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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29506950">Many More To Die</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/madwomanwithabox/pseuds/madwomanwithabox'>madwomanwithabox</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sanders Sides (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Everyone Is Gay, Gay Sex, M/M, Sex, Slash, art fic, even as a corpse raising "demon" Patton is a cinnamon roll that must be protected, it's late and i'm done so i'll tag better later, lots of death because necromancy, no betas we die like men, people die but it doesn't take</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 02:13:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>30,109</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29506950</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/madwomanwithabox/pseuds/madwomanwithabox</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>For over a thousand years, necromancy has been forbidden in the Kingdoms, the Necromata--its practitioners--feared, reviled, and punished for a power they never asked to wield. Those Necromata who are not killed in the cradle are taken from their families, stripped of their Name--the core of identity and memory--and imprisoned for the rest of their lives.</p>
<p>Logan was twelve when he entered the palace dungeons. Prince Roman was fourteen when he witnessed the young necromancer being brutalized, imprisoned, and left to suffer.</p>
<p>Roman only wanted to offer the other boy comfort, and perhaps a scrap of dignity. He didn't realize his kindness would follow both of them into adulthood--or that Logan would one day become the only person in all the realms that Roman would be able to trust with his life, his heart, and his very soul.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders, Deceit | Janus Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>51</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This AU is based off a piece of art by the incredible gretaticdraws on Tumblr--check it out <a href="https://gretacticdraws.tumblr.com/post/642674504213168128/logince-in-a-fantasy-au-maybe-one-of-them-as-a">here!</a> I got inspired to write a ficlet about it...aaaaaand then it took over and is now gonna be it's own whole ass universe.</p>
<p>It's unbeta'd, because I'm a goddamn rebel, and was written very late at night, and is pure self indulgent drivel. Still, if you so much as breathe in my direction, I will write this forever. Fair warning. :P</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>1023, A.A.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Necromata.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sitting in the middle of his cell, twelve year old Logan...<em>Logan </em>choked on tears as his shoulder screamed, his bones ached, and the flickering lights of his cell let his imagination run wild with all manner of monsters and omens of doom lurking within every shadow.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He knew he was lucky—many necromancers were caught in the cradle and killed. Very few survived as long as he had. He could be grateful to his family for that much, that he'd lived long enough to escape a death sentence.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He did have a family. He knew that much—<em>remembered </em>that much. Everything else, they had taken before throwing him into his cell. The prison mage's hand was still a ghost of cold fire against his forehead, worms of icy coal burning through his brain to wipe out every trace of the things that would make him what he was, allow him to be more safely contained.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The name spoken with fear and loathing was all that he had left.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Necromata. </em>The legions of the Animator...the necromancers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Psst!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The hiss echoed off the stone in the corridor, made his heart leap into his chest as he looked around for the source of it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Psst! </em>Over here!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan tried to scramble back from the door of his cell, and screamed when he forgot about his dislocated shoulder, collapsing as it gave way under his weight.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, don't—please, it's okay. I don't want to hurt you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Blinking, Logan squinted into the low light beyond the torches that barely lit his new home. Something bright green flickered there, an outline visible that was vaguely person-shaped.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Who...who are you?” he asked, curling his injured arm as close to his body as he could so he wouldn't forget again as he got to his feet.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I...I'm not supposed to say.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan shuffled a little closer to the bars of his cell. “Then how do I know you don't want to hurt me?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The prison mage took your Name—you won't understand if I tell you. Just...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The person-shape on the other side of the bars moved forward, an arm protruding through to set a bowl on the dirt floor of Logan's cell. Inside there was water, and sitting across the rim was a heavy piece of leather.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I saw what the guard did when you came in. Your shoulder...it happened to me once when I snuck out to hunt for the Lazari.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The Lazari don't exist.” Logan replied, reaching up with his good hand to try and wipe some of the tears and snot off his face. “They're a fairy tale, like the Animata.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How do <em>you </em>know?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan opened his mouth...then closed it after long moments.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I...I don't know.” he admitted. “I must have lost it when the prison mage took my Name.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Then you could be wrong.” the person-shape insisted, those emerald flecks in the near shadow sparkling with determination. “I'll find a Lazari one day. Just you wait.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What does that have to do with my dislocated shoulder?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh! Sorry—uhm, I did it once. When I snuck out, I fell from a tree and mine popped out. My brother showed me how to use the bars on our window to pop it back in! I threw up, though—and he made me bite a belt so I wouldn't scream.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The hand appeared between the bars again, nudging the bowl and the leather strap forward a little further.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I can tell you how to do it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan shuffled forward a couple more steps, then shifted to kneel in front of the bowl of water.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I...might know.” He replied, staring at the bowl for a long moment before he peered back into the dark, into the green spark that was his benefactor's eyes. “Thank you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The person-shape said nothing for a long moment...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Berry.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Berry! The guards called you Logan, right? They took your Name—maybe Berry can be your new one.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Before Logan could comment, the person-shape grew less distinct, and the flicker of green was gone with the clatter of footsteps scurrying away into the dark.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was a silly idea—a Name taken could not be restored so easily. Still, the word rattled around in his head along with the one that made his bones ache again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Necromata. Berry. Necromata. Berry. Berry.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Logan Berry.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Something stirred in the middle of Logan's mind, in his marrow—in the place that magic had scoured out and rubbed raw within the pathways of his brain. Something stirred, settled...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Something slid into place, and all of a sudden the shadows were far less frightening.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Popping his shoulder back into the socket hurt far more than dislocating it had—and yet while he'd sobbed his soul out after being injured, after being robbed of all that made him a person, he shed not a single tear as he put the leather between his teeth, wrenched his joint back into place, and used the fresh water to clean up after he'd emptied his stomach into the corner of his cell.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He even managed to sleep on his pallet of straw, and dreamed of green embers in the dark, drifting into the shadows in his cell and transforming every monster into a friend.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>**********<br/><br/></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>1033, A.A.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I had the dream again.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“A kinky one?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sweet leaping <em>gods, </em>Remus!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The high, strident cackle of his twin brother echoed through Prince Roman's bedchamber, making him wonder yet again why he thought he could talk to the crazy idiot about anything remotely meaningful. Yes, Remus was trustworthy—he gave Roman all manner of hell for the secrets he shared, but had suffered his fair share of indignities to keep his mouth shut—but sometimes he wondered if it was worth the teasing and the laughter to have such a steadfast confidant.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Remus had secrets of his own, after all—the numerous Anima that shared his bed, for one. Like Roman, Remus was fascinated by the Necromata, the true necromancers that all citizens of the Kingdoms were taught to hate and fear. The Anima were little more than pretenders, mages of other disciplines that toyed with the death magic that had been outlawed for over a thousand years.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Still, they had a lot to teach—and made good company, from the way Remus spoke of his dalliances.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, I'm just yanking your chain, big brother!” Remus assured him, crossing over to drape himself over Roman's back, chin settling on Roman's shoulder to read what his twin was writing as he hunched over his desk. “C'mon now—tell me about the dream, and <em>I'll </em>tell you about the Necromata I fucked last night.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman straightened abruptly at that, unceremoniously sending Remus sprawling to the floor. Turning his chair, he gaped down at his brother and pointed an accusing finger at him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You did <em>not </em>sleep with a real necromancer, you lying sack of horse dung!” he hissed. “Why would you even say that in the <em>palace </em>of all places?!?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Because the sex was unbelievably good?” Remus offered, shrugging from his place on the floor, flat on his back. “Believe me, Ro Bro, a guy that can't actually <em>feel </em>human contact can keep it up for a nice, long, <em>slow </em>roll in the hay. It's pretty remarkable!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman just huffed, standing from his seat—and promptly sinking to the floor to sprawl out right beside Remus.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You're lying.” he said simply.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Remus was quiet a long time...then sighed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Of course I am. He was just another Animata.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Anima. The Animata are a myth, like the Lazari.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Since when did you turn into such a brainiac, Roro? We both know I've always been the smart one.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman rolled his eyes with a grin, stretching his leg to kick Remus's ankle—but the truth of the matter was, Remus was right. Between the pair of them, Remus <em>was </em>smarter by leaps and bounds. He was studying the collegiate sciences when he was seventeen, and began his magic training before he'd even reached puberty. The fact that the only part of the sciences he enjoyed were anatomy and mortuary study were entirely besides the point, as was the fact that Remus wasn't actually capable of using magic at all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was, as their father lovingly put it, a rogue genius: in possession of an intellect so massive that the rules couldn't restrain him. He either knew too well how to circumnavigate them, or he simply didn't care enough to bother and did what he wanted—what he thought was right, no matter the consequence.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman might have been the elder of the twins—by one hour, eleven o'clock of one night where Remus came at midnight the next morning—but he aspired, every single day, to be the maverick that Remus was. He simply lacked the brains...and the courage.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Which was why today, it was Roman their father would be naming as his successor, and not Remus. Roman would be king, would rule by the law and the will of the gods, and Remus would...get to be Remus for the rest of his life, a crown prince without a care in the world.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Tell me about the dream, Roro.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Remus's voice was gentle this time, his fingers walking their way along Roman's arm until he could find his hand and weave it into his own.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman sighed, staring up at the mural on the ceiling of his bedchamber—a beautifully wrought depiction of the Fall of Death, the final battle between the Animator, the first of the Necromata, and their ancestor, King Thomas Andres, that had saved the Kingdoms over a thousand years ago.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“He was in it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The boy from the dungeons?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman nodded. He could feel Remus watching him...</p>
<p><br/>Just like he could feel the boy from the dungeons watching him every time he had the dream...<br/><br/>**********<br/><br/>“He was here again.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Jumpin' Jiminy, Lo—are you <em>sure?</em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan nodded, mostly to himself. Patton couldn't see him, not from the bathtub behind the partition that separated it from the rest of the room, but it hardly mattered—after eight years as cell mates, the two of them had become as close as brothers, as close as twins according to some of the guards that had met the king's identical twin sons.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They had grown so naturally into the relationship, it made Logan wonder sometimes if he'd had a brother before his Name had been taken.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Well...it made him wonder in the early days, at any rate. Logan had stopped wondering many years ago.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Suffice to say, Patton didn't need to see him nod to know that Logan <em>had. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well? What'd he do?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan let his mind wander back to the night before—the dream space that <em>he </em>so often occupied, the boy that had come to him in the dark ten years before with a bowl of water, a leather strap, and a name.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The boy he'd come to think of as the Green Man, with those eyes that the dark couldn't fully hide.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The same thing he always does.” Logan managed to reply, setting down the pen he'd been using in favor of resting his elbows on his desk and steepling his fingers to press against his lips. Among those Necromata imprisoned in the palace dungeons, Logan was quite fortunate: he was allowed a cell mate, access to books and writing implements, even a small window sill garden consisting of plants that couldn't be used for magical purposes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was very lucky. Ten years of good behavior had given him an incredible amount of leeway and granted him creature comforts like access to regular bathing privileges. The guards even referred to him by his chosen name.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was, for all intents and purposes, treated like he was truly human. A prisoner, always, but one the guards and prison mages shared a basic blood connection to, unlike the other Necromata.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“...Lo?...<em>Logan!</em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Shaking himself, Logan cleared his throat and tried to beat back the heat he could feel rising in his cheeks, having been caught wool gathering.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Apologies, I didn't catch that.” he called over his shoulder.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I <em>said, </em>did he say anything this time?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan shook his head, knowing once again that his actions would be understood rather than seen. Patton asked the same thing every time Logan mentioned the visits, and every time it was the same.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>If Patton <em>really </em>knew the content of the Green Man's visitations...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Pressing his fingertips to his mouth again, Logan shut his eyes and let himself remember.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The visits were always in a dream space—for years, before the visitations became more regular, Logan had assumed the Green Man was a guard's son, or the child of some member of the palace staff. Later, when the Green Man came to Logan in his sleep, he figured he was the son of a prison or court mage—who else could manage to dream walk in the mind of even a crippled necromancer like him?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then again...Logan was different from many prisoners like himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In the dream, Logan still cannot see his face. Like those ephemeral dreams from his first few nights in the dungeons, he's little more than shadows with burning points of light the color of fresh shoots just springing from the soil. Over the years, he's become more distinct, but still nothing Logan can give any real definition.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He is a man made of darkness, his eyes reflecting what spark of magic lives within him. They never speak to each other—Logan never dares, secretly apprehensive that disturbing the quiet will somehow end this irregular communion they share.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>All the Green Man does is extend a hand, the only part of him Logan can truly see. What was once small and slim fingered has changed over the years into a large hand, broad but lean, tendons standing out below each knuckle and tanned by exposure to the sun. Every time, he reaches out, and every time, Logan takes his hand and just...holds on.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In the dream space, Logan can <em>feel </em>his touch. It's likely a projection, something imagined, but there's strength and warmth in that hand—the pressure of fingers meshing with his own, the heat of palm sealed to palm. There's something under the skin, itchy and trembling, and it makes Logan want to pull away because it's just too much...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Green Man never lets him. Gradually, the feeling passes, and Logan clings until the feeling returns, crashing over him and sliding back in waves beating the shore of his nervous system.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan is always the first to let go. The Green Man makes sure of it—and then he leaves.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Are you okay, kiddo?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan looked up sharply, twisting to see Patton over his shoulder. His mop of tawny curls is swept back from his face, still dark and wet from his bath, the chill of the cell raising gooseflesh on his bare torso.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He has one hand holding the towel around his waist, and the other resting on Logan's shoulder.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The pressure is barely there, that buzzing awareness of contact easily missed if not expected.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Patton hastily lifts his hand, face screwed up in silent apology. Logan dislikes physical contact, even if he cannot feel it—just like any of the Necromata, so divorced from the living, human populous that they cannot even connect to them through touch.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Didn't mean to spook you, Lo. Just...you're real quiet. Usually, you got more to say after a visit from You Know Who.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan nodded, then made a point of reaching out to squeeze Patton's hand briefly before letting it go just as quickly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Apologies. I suppose I'm just...distracted by today.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah—hey, you think the prince'll come down here?” Patton asked hopefully, drawing back to go and find some clothes. “I mean, if he's gonna learn to be king after the ceremony...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan let Patton continue to chatter about the potential for this new ruler to somehow see their plight, somehow be their salvation. He let the words, the hope, wash over him without making contact.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Patton could have hope, because he had no Name. No history, no memory, no past and therefore no future. He was a blank slate, for all intents and purposes, unable to access the power of the Necromata with no <em>life </em>of his own to bind it to.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Unlike Logan. Logan, who no longer wondered if he'd had a brother in his family.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan, who could share a dream space, something only mages were capable of.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan, who had been given a new name by his benefactor so many years ago, a name that others used daily.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan Berry, who even now could feel the essence of every rat behind the dungeon walls, every guard on patrol, every prisoner languishing beneath the lowest floors of the palace...and every noble, every royal, every peasant up above.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan Berry, who could not remember his family, but <em>could </em>remember that he once had a brother.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Because, despite the fact that a Name taken could not be restored so easily, Logan had taken a name freely given and made it his own.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A Name, freely given. A life, restored.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan could not have hope, because he had the power of the Necromata at his fingertips—and it was only a matter of time before good behavior would no longer be enough to earn him the leeway to stay alive.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Names are powerful things--and after ten years, Logan's has acquired quite a bit. The restoration of his power is something he has to fight viciously to keep secret...</p>
<p>But he's not the only necromancer who's in hiding. Above his head, Roman is being introduced to the people of the Kingdom's as his father's successor--but someone in the shadows is coming for the royal house of Sanders, of which Roman is part.</p>
<p>And Logan will not stand for someone laying figurative hands on anyone that belongs to him.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I don't know why I'm still writing, or publishing this. I'm not sleeping well--and seriously, Logan won't shut up in my head. Seriously.</p>
<p>CW ahead for angst, specific notes at the end for what kind cause it be spoilery. Check it out first in case you may be sensitive, 'cause I know this one can be a little triggery for me. Overly cautious can only help, not hurt, and you've all been so damn sweet about this story that I just want to make sure you is safe. &lt;3</p>
<p>Seriously, THANK YOU to everyone that's been patting me on the back for this. I haven't written serious fanfic in a long ass time, and I'm so self conscious I can't even bring myself to show this to a beta (but I'm also hardcore like that XD), so the support means a ton and makes me feel so effin warm and fuzzy inside that I fear I may turn into a Tribble. :P</p>
<p>I repeat: no betas, WE DIE LIKE MEN. Or women. XD Also, if you wanna listen to me ramble about shit or yell about things, I'm <a href="http://www.iwrestlenow.tumblr.com">iwrestlenow</a> on tumblr!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>1025, A.A.</em>
</p>
<p><br/>“Berry?”<br/><br/></p>
<p>Logan was yanked from a sound sleep by the utterance of his name—not the sound, but the <em>feeling</em> of it. Crawling around inside his skull like ants, static electricity shocking his neural pathways and the core of his essence. It was red strings and his first meal after that one stretch in the dungeon's blackout cells after he punched the guard that dislocated his shoulder.</p>
<p><br/><em>Logan Berry. Logan Berry.</em> The gift from his guardian angel was two years old at this point...and Logan was starting to wonder if it was more than just a small reminder of his personhood, to keep the harsh world around him from breaking his spirit.</p>
<p><br/>Sitting up, Logan rubbed his eyes and reached for his glasses where they sat on the floor beside his pallet. When they had finally given them back to him two weeks after his arrival, the right lens had been all but shattered. The guard who had returned them—the same one who injured him—smiled far too wide for Logan's liking, inciting the attack that had gotten him punished.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I am awake.” he announced softly, sliding his glasses on and rising from his pallet to approach the bars of his cell. Squinting in the low torchlight, he searched...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A point of bright yellow sunlight, slit down the middle by a reptilian pupil gleamed in the shadows before the body it was attached to came into view. Swiftly, it was joined by another eye, very much human and dark as chocolate. A sweep of hair as black as Logan's own fell across his forehead, and the torchlight gleamed across the burnished surface of the scales that covered half of the young drake's face and neck.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Of course.” the drake shot back dryly, not quite managing to hide the sibilant accent inherent to his species. “That's why you were snoring.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What do you want, Janus?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The eighteen year old Janus narrowed his mismatched eyes at Logan—but quickly gave up on trying to look intimidating. He hardly needed it, being not only older, but the son of the captain of the guard.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“A favor.” he admitted, sparking enough of Logan's interest to banish the last of the cobwebs lingering in his head. Janus didn't like being indebted to anyone—and, to that end, usually came to Logan for favors, as Logan was always perfectly willing to trade his assistance for some commodity, be it books, food, or the repair of his glasses.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What is the favor?” Logan asked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Janus said nothing for a long moment, staring into Logan's face...no, not his face. Squinting, he realized Janus was quite deliberately avoiding direct eye contact by focusing on a point just above Logan's eyes, somewhere around his forehead.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Janus?...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Shutting his eyes, Janus ducked his head.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I...need a name.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“A...<em>what?</em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“A <em>name, </em>all right? Like the one you picked for yourself.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan was startled by that request—he told no one about the boy who came to him, claimed he made up his own surname to replace the Name that was stripped away. Some of the guards disliked it, stirring fresh retellings of the legends of the Lazari: necromancers with the power not merely to raise the dead, but craft true, living souls from sheer force of will.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He even heard some new ones about the Animata: a theoretical balance to the Necromata, magic practitioners that could manipulate life the way necromancers manipulated death. From the stories Logan overheard while pretending to sleep with guards outside his cell, the Animata had been wiped out by the rise of the Animator, the First of the Necromata, leading to his rise and attempted enslavement of the Kingdoms. With the Animata gone and unable to keep the balance in check, the king had been forced to slay the Animator and had outlawed necromancy soon after.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>All stories, of course...but over the last two years, as his name wormed through his brain the way the power of the prison mages had, it sometimes made him wonder. After all, mythology and legend served two functions in human history: explaining natural phenomenon that were not yet understood, or hyperbolic retellings of one or many actual events.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So the prison guards talked, wondered if Logan had designs on restoring his own Name through the adoption of a new one—but Janus, for all his trust issues and ilicit dealings, was an intelligent boy with a good head on his shoulders. He wasn't one for <em>fanciful </em>stories—only those that he could tell in the name of manipulating others.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Perhaps that was why he felt some measure of shame or embarrassment for asking Logan this favor? There was clearly some...unidentified emotion behind the request, and Logan wasn't particularly good at coping with emotional issues. He highly suspected that, when he still had a Name, he had been essentially the same.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“...I want to be allowed to keep books in my cell.” He hadn't meant to say anything indicating agreement—but the words fell out of his mouth without any conscious permission.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Janus's head snapped up sharply. This time, he met Logan's gaze with an intensity that was decidedly threatening.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That's all?” he asked, squinting after a long moment. “No...commentary?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan shrugged. “You know I do not care for sentiment. Your obvious flirtation with it, in this situation, does not interest me so much as what I can gain from the moment of weakness on your part.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Are you sure you're only fourteen? You sound way too much like my grandpa sometimes.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan rolled his eyes, declining to rise to the bait. Instead, he gave the matter what he felt was a comically superficial amount of consideration.</p>
<p>“Hart.” he finally decided.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Janus raised an eyebrow at him, mismatched eyes losing focus for a moment before he nodded to himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That...works surprisingly well.” he mumbled, seemingly more to himself than anything. Refocusing on Logan, Janus straightened and once again resumed his attempts at exuding as commanding a presence as he could manage.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You'll get your books.” Janus assured him. “I always pay my debts.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Past performance indicates this is an accurate assessment. Hence my request.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh...go back to bed.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Gladly.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>**********<br/><br/><em>1033, A.A.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ladies, lords, non-binary royalty, and all of my valued subjects!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>By the gods, I'm going to throw up.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman stood behind the curtain on the balcony, his heart in his throat. Every part of him was screaming to run, to hide, to sink into the floor and vanish through sheer force of his desire to not be there—to push Remus out to take his place when the king made his proclamation. Already, he could feel the weight of his impending responsibilities threatening to crush him, the world narrowing and the walls closing in...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He couldn't do this. He wasn't <em>ready. </em>He wasn't smart like Remus or as patient as his father, he wasn't commanding enough—<em>he couldn't be king. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>But he would be. One day.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Peering through the curtain, he saw his father turn...and though the pride in his face only made the terror worse, at the same time...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He could do this. He had to.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Smiling, King Thomas Sanders IV extended a hand towards him in silent encouragement. It was the same hand he offered to those subjects that knelt before him at court to have their grievances heard, the same hand he offered to both Roman and Remus as children when they felt shy or had fallen down while playing...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>...or leading him back into the house when he was out to hunt a Lazari...</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I give you your future king—Prince Roman Sanders!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A hand fell to his shoulder, squeezing hard enough to bruise.</p>
<p><br/>“Give 'em hell, Ro Bro!” Remus hissed gleefully in his ear.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was strange, but some of the weight lifted itself off of Roman's shoulders, with his brother's hand there instead as he stepped out onto the balcony and into the sunlight.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>For a moment, it was...magical. The ghost of Remus's fingers pressed into his shoulder, his father's hand curling warm around his nape—the people of the Kingdoms below, smiling and cheering in a symphony that filled his lungs as readily as it filled his ears, turning his heart into pure starlight.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>For a moment, basking in his father's pride, his brother's confidence, and his people's love—he didn't just feel like he could do this, he <em>knew </em>that he could.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>For a moment—that was all he got before his heart stopped beating.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It happened suddenly, but somehow it felt as natural as breathing. The tension of that missing engine powering the body and soul, the inability to draw breath. It was the peace of sleep, the flow of one step into the next while walking down an evenly paved road—he <em>knew </em>something was wrong, and yet he could not escape the manner in which it felt so <em>normal.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Standing there, dying in front of the very kingdom he was meant to serve with no rhyme or reason for it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Let it go...</em>it felt so right, it felt <em>proper.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>As his vision began to dim, and the hand he'd raised to wave to the crowd started to fall by his side, he felt the urge to fight sliding out of him, eyes already slipping shut...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Easy as existing. Getting dark, time to sleep.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Until he heard a sigh next to him that was <em>chilling. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>The king.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Death no longer felt so inevitable, nor did it feel right. It was <em>wrong, </em>but...it was inside him, twisting and warping to form words that echoed inside his head. Something was slipping into the void left behind by the absence of a heartbeat, speaking to him in the Reaper's voice...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>The necromancer.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>**********</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan was only aware of it in passing—however, Logan wasn't supposed to be capable of even that, and had to take such painstaking care to make sure that no trace of his magic could be felt anywhere. He had to keep the fact that he had power hidden, had to beat back every trace of it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So he was aware of his magic, far more than he was aware of the distant stars that were the lives of every creature within the palace and beyond.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And the feel of his power waking, straining towards death? That hit him hard, <em>made </em>him focus on that awareness of what was happening.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Lo? You okay?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan spun in his seat and stood, stalking up to the bars of his cell. It was little more than a voice in another house, reaching him barely through thin walls and great distances...but it was growing closer, crossing that distance, too close too close <em>too close...</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Logan? You're scaring me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Patton was at his side, watching him with wide, fearful eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Someone is killing the king.” Logan breathed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What? How can you possibly know that?” Patton hissed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan opened his mouth...and nothing came.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Until that voice, hollow and honeyed, was suddenly in his house and in his veins and in his...in <em>his. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>For the first time, Logan understood why the Necromata were so feared—why he was locked below ground, why he had no Name of his own and why it was so desperately important to make sure no necromancer could ever practice their art.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The moment he sensed that foreign power encroaching on something that belonged to Logan alone, everything was chilling instinct and cold, calculating fury. The power swept up and took over, took action to reclaim what was being stolen.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The king was dying, but so was the Green Man.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan's last rational thought before an eerie blue light swallowed up his eyes and the power wiped his mind clean was that, if the Green Man was close enough to the king, he might actually be able to save them both.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>**********<br/><br/>The necromancer in the dungeons. Roman could feel it, he was certain of it...it felt cold and airy, thick morning fog swirling through his marrow yet rendering his mind strangely clear. It was familiar, not all that different from the way it felt when they touched in Roman's dreams.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The necromancer was there. He was...<em>helping </em>Roman.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>You have to get to the king.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He didn't <em>know, </em>even after all these years didn't realize who Roman was, and that was the way it ought to be, and yet...he was warning Roman, he was--</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The wrongness of it filled his chest in the space of a blink, filled his lungs, forced breath into his body. The <em>fight </em>squeezed every muscle, including his heart, in a steady rhythm that started his blood moving again. Roman tried to clutch at his chest, but he couldn't.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He felt cold all over, but his body was working, warring with some outside force, struggling to stay alive.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His body was no longer his to control, he realized with a rush of fear. The necromancer...chill fog, thick and light and clear, in his head and his veins and his heart...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman's body was turning, his head swiveling around, obeying an order he did not give.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The necromancer was animating him now, manipulating his every move—and all Roman could do was stand there and let it happen--</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Go.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>...Father!</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This time, when he tried to move, his body obeyed him, his will and that of the necromancer uniting as one.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He rushed forward, reaching out...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In just enough time to catch the king as he fell, a corpse gone cold by the time the both of them reached the ground.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>CW: angst, parental death (but remember, this IS a necromancer AU. XD)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Roman is now king--and not in full control of his actions. Being kept alive by Logan's magic alone, he heads into the dungeons to see the necromancer for the first time in ten years.</p>
<p>Logan, a little out of control himself, uses his magic to bring the Green Man to his cell, not realizing he's compelling the new king of the Kingdoms. He discovers a strange, unknow power is still actively trying to kill him, uses his powers to try and regain some control over the situation...</p>
<p>And discovers something <i>impossible</i>.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>...y'all are so sweet. Seriously, always gonna thank you for the kind words and comments. Forevah.</p>
<p>Also NEW VIDEO MY BOYS GOT JELLIES EVERYTHING IS FUN AND NOTHING HURTS. XD</p>
<p>So...this chapter is absolute garbage, and sheer self indulgent nonsense I was GONNA post as part of chapter two, but I couldn't get it to sit right. Now it sits right, so...yeah.</p>
<p>CW in this chapter for some disturbing, vaguely graphic imagery involving blood, fluids (nothing sexual, YET), and a stylized version of a panic attack as well as touch starvation. I experience some mild symptoms myself, but I will admit I haven't done much in the way of research for more extreme samples, but this chapter does feature someone that has literally never experienced human contact doing so for the first time. Ergo, their reaction is a little extreme. Just be safe, mindful, and know that I am eager to learn anything that can help me treat issues like this with the respect and accuracy they deserve.</p>
<p>NO BETAS WE DIE LIKE MEN. Also, one day I will stop posting chapters at eleven o'clock at night, and therefore they will be better written and I won't be as impulsive about sharing my shinies before they're ready. XD</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Your Majesty! You have to stop!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman remained silent as the guards trailing him called out, relentless as he stalked through the palace halls. Even as the words made him visibly flinch, cutting into him like a knife, he pressed onwards.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Your Majesty.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Because he was the king now. King Thomas Roman II—with his father (<em>his body, he's just a body now</em>) laying in his rooms to prepare for internment.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He could still see Remus's face...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Remus—I can't--”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Roman? Roman, look at me.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Father is...he's...”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Dead. Our father is dead, big brother—and </em>this is why the gods invented necromancers. <em>Go.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>He hadn't trusted it, when his first impulse sent him bolting from the guards that dragged him away from his father's body and into the palace, everything in him screaming to find the dungeon, straining towards the necromancer. It probably wasn't his own thought, he <em>still </em>wasn't in control of his own body, lungs full of cool fog, mind thick and clear and so soft, so light. It seemed wrong to feel that way, heavy morning mist and the air above the clouds, atop the mountain, where not a single speck of dust or vapor could impede his vision.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He needed that, Remus to tell him, to hear <em>someone else </em>that wasn't in the Necromata's thrall having the same idea.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Remus pushed him further into the palace. Roman hardly needed the prompting.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Stand aside.” he instructed as he reached the gate leading down into the dungeons. Two fully armed guards flanked the relatively small door, and neither of them moved at his command.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“With all due respect, Highness--”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It's--” Roman's throat clogged around the words, unable to let them out despite the fact that his hands still shook from the chill of his father's skin.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Let him pass.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman glanced over his shoulder, startled by the sight of the man approaching them. He was dressed in a gentleman's bowler hat, and the black and gold cloak of an assassin, its gleaming clasp a perfect compliment to the scales that graced his otherwise handsome features.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Lord Janus, you know--”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How <em>dearly </em>I adore being flouted? Yes, of course, nothing makes me happier than having my subordinates <em>disobey a direct order in front of the king.</em>” Janus managed to purr through the sibilance of every word. Distractedly, Roman swore he could hear the crack of ice forming in the wake of the assassin's frigid demeanor.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The word 'king,' however, seemed to do the job. The moment it was spoken, both guards flinched, shared a look, and the one on the left moved to open the gate.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman descended the stairs, slowing down for the first time since he'd left the balcony. As a boy, he'd been in the cell nearest to the stairs, and in the dreams it was the same...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was nearly to the bottom when he saw him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was standing in front of the bars, hands wrapped around them...and totally absent. Behind his glasses, the eyes that Roman remembered being glittering chips of ice had been swallowed up by a soft blue light that reminded him of every terrifying story he'd ever heard about the Animator with his sightless eyes, white as bone and crackling with the fury of lightning.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was no crackle to this glow—more like the sinuous curl of flame at the edges, sweeping back against his temples, barely tinted blue and pale as moonlight.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stopping dead, he was so consumed by the otherworldly beauty of the image he cut that he almost didn't notice the much younger man beside him—only just reaching the necromancer's shoulder with a mop of brown curls and an expression fraught with worry as he focused entirely on the...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>...on <em>Logan. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman forced himself to take those last few steps down, drawing the attention of the younger man. When he turned to Roman, he saw that his eyes were blue as well—but dark, vivid as the first crop of wild blueberries at the edges of the village that sat in the valley just beneath the palace.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He squinted into the shadows that blanketed the area around the stairs, the same one Roman had hidden in so long ago—and gasped, choking audibly on his own breath.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh...<em>oh, </em>it's—it's <em>you.</em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Taken aback, Roman stilled again. “You...know me?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The Green Man—well, sure! Logan's told me all about you! But...what are you <em>doing </em>here, kiddo?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Taking a deep breath—deep as he could manage with magic still forcing his chest to expand and contract, Roman stepped forward into the light. Almost immediately, the boy's eyes widened.</p>
<p><br/>“...oh, ohhhhh, sweet <em>baby, </em>he didn't tell me you were the...the...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The boy looked half ready to cry as he realized who he was speaking to, catching Roman just a little off guard with the display of empathy. A sudden, irrational urge to reach through the bars and hug the poor kid gripped him so powerfully it hurt—to hide his face in Roman's chest and protect him, to hide his face in those curls so no one could see Roman's tears in turn.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The boy's overly shining eyes hardened just as abruptly as they filled. Turning away from Roman, he laid a solid hand on Logan's shoulder.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Logan.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman opened his mouth to ask what was happening, what he was <em>doing </em>to Roman...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then Logan's hand lifted, fingers unwrapping from around the bars, arm extending, and only then did Roman realize he'd closed the distance and walked straight up to the bars with no memory or awareness of even moving.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Everything in him was well past straining, was now <em>screaming </em>for him to take that offered hand, to plow straight through the bars and <em>into </em>something--</p>
<p><br/>“Go on, kiddo.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Patton.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It's okay, Janny...it's okay, Your Majesty. He won't hurt you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The voices—Lord Janus, the boy, Patton—they sounded like they were coming from the end of a long hall, underwater.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The world was growing so quiet. Early morning dawn, cold mist, thick as soup and light as cotton.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Hold on.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He watched, from the heart of the fog bank, as his hand drifted up to mesh with Logan's—just like the dreams. That hand, those fingers, long and lean and surprisingly powerful...as familiar to him as his own name.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Do not let go.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>I never have. I never will.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman looked from their joined hands to stare into Logan's face—no longer that of a frightened boy in pain, but lean and angular and marked by his imprisonment. Skin just too pale, cheekbones just too prominent, eyes just too shadowed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman decided, with the last of his free will, that it was the most beautiful face he'd ever seen.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He breathed in, clear and deep, a breath of his own volition.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This time, the world only went dark when he closed his eyes and let go his final breath.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>**********</p>
<p><br/>Logan was in agony, and he didn't understand why.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It happened suddenly as the Green Man approached, followed the compulsion he'd been pushing since the moment his power had taken over. Logan had only been able to regain his senses once he'd <em>found </em>it and grabbed on, caught the thread of power buried deep in the Green Man's blood and marrow and replaced it with his own magic.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He'd never done this before, not really—but his magic seemed to know the way, seemed to know that this one, <em>this death, </em>belonged to Logan alone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There wasn't time to wonder before everything began to burn and scream within him, demanding that he turn and run for safety.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan didn't listen. He pushed through it, pushed towards the sound of Patton's voice, towards the Green Man, and leaned forward just in time to draw his last gasp deep into his own lungs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Immediately, it burned. The power in there was foreign, alien and <em>other, </em>too hot and too bright. It was straining towards its target, <em>terrified </em>of its new prison within Logan's body. He could taste lightning on the back of his tongue, lightning and knives and thick, sweet-savory blood.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>...and underneath, honey mead. Fresh grass and sweet roses, sunlight and the clash of swords. Loamy earth and the clean grit of damp stone. <em>The Green Man.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was in so much pain, he barely felt it as he bit the inside of his own cheek and sucked, replacing the savory-sweet of the alien magic with old pennies and sour larvae. Rolling the flavor of those three across his tongue, Logan breathed through his nose...and opened his mouth.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The blue-white light spilled from his lips and slithered past the Green Man's, returning his final breath to him with a fresh thread of power to combat the one that was trying to leech away his very essence. With an icy knot in his chest to clash against the fire ravaging his nerves, he blinked his vision clear, banishing the last of the spirit-blindness from his eyes and begged the gods for aid.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Green Man stood, eyes shut, still as the grave—then tensed and came alive, greedily sucking air into his lungs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Something inside Logan's chest relaxed...but everything, <em>everything </em>still hurt like hell.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Only then, dimly, did it register that the Green Man stood before him in the red, white, and gold of the royal family's military dress.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Green Man...oh, Shadow's <em>Balls, </em>the Green Man was the king's son.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Logan? Say something, <em>please </em>Logan...” Patton's voice, thin and vaguely panicked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Easy.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The prince—the new king—gasping and coughing, those green eyes riveted to Logan's face.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Berry.</em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Janus—that was definitely Janus, somewhere beyond Logan's vision, which was starting to narrow. It hurt, it hurt, why did it <em>hurt? </em>He was in pain, he was dying...he was on <em>fire. </em>He was being consumed and crushed--</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Logan, stop pulling.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Blinking, Logan's vision blurred and cleared. Tears? He was...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Was he weeping? He had to be, he was struggling to breathe.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Looking around, Logan realized Patton was crying (<em>his fault, his fault he knew somehow it was his fault</em>) and, standing beside the new king, Janus had a hand on each of their wrists.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The prince still held Logan's hand. Janus's fingers around Logan's wrist were a barely there buzzing awareness, not even that ghost of pressure because Logan couldn't feel anything beyond the fire consuming him, concentrated...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The prince tried to take his hand back. Logan's fingers convulsed around it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don't let go.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It took Logan a full minute to realize the broken sounding whine had come from his own throat.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Logan!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Patton, easy. It's fine...Your Majesty, are you all right?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I...yes. I am unharmed, I'm...I'm back in control.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Back </em>in control?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Whatever killed my f—whatever killed the king, it nearly killed me, too. I have reason to believe this man saved my life.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“This man is Necromata, and he's clearly found a way to use magic on you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Which, I repeat, he used to <em>save my life, </em>and if we're very lucky, may yet be able to use to save F...the rightful king. Logan.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don't let go...<em>please.</em>” Logan's breath was coming in short, shallow gasps now. He was trying to take back his hand and begging to be restrained...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan was dying. Logan was electrified.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Young man—Patton--what's wrong with him?”</p>
<p><br/>“I don't know, Your Majesty...Logan? Can you take a breath for me, kiddo?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Breath. Breathing. Logan could breathe. He shut his eyes...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>...two...three...four...</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>...hold...</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>...three...five...six...</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan drew in a breath.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Held it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Let it out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Again.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan drew in a breath. At some point, he stopped fighting the grip on his hand, drifted somewhere between the present and elsewhere, the core of his power...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Breath. Berry. Breath, br...other. Berry.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He opened his eyes when it started to hurt again. The Green Man was right there, both of his hands wrapped around Logan's one. He felt boneless, but when he looked to the side, he saw Patton pressed against him, one arm around his waist, the other holding Logan's arm across his shoulders so he could support his weight.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey, kiddo. You back?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan could only nod, turning back to stare at the hands engulfing his. Hesitantly, he tried to plant his feet, take his arm back from Patton, and reached out to touch one of the prince's hands.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His fingertips barely grazed his knuckle, and the pain intensified.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Lo?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan drew a shaky breath.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Your Majesty...your hands are callused.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Green Man blinked, visibly confused. “I...thank...you?...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Your hands...are callused.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don't understand...” The Green Man trailed off, then after a moment his eyes widened.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Wait. You...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan felt his hands tighten around his. It hurt worse, and somehow it was all that was stopping him from shattering into a million glittering pieces.</p>
<p><br/>“Your hands are callused.” Logan repeated. “I can feel them...I can feel it. Your touch...<em>I can feel it.</em>”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Roman discovers that even the power of a king has its limits--but at least he has the power to help Logan in one critical fashion.</p>
<p>Logan is a needy wreck, and can't figure out which way is up, and as desperately as he needs someone--one man--to hold his hand through it all? It only makes things worse somehow.</p>
<p>Meanwhile, through all of this, another chess piece steps out of the shadows and onto the game board--and he's not going anywhere until he gets what, and who, he came for.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I love you all. And I LITERALLY CANNOT STOP WRITING ON THIS. SEND HELP.</p>
<p>But mostly I love you little angels all for your cheerleading and stuff. May your enemies forever step on Legos in bare feet, and your hair days all be fabulous. &lt;3</p>
<p>And apologies to Creepy_C00kie, tho--the blanket was mentioned, but won't appear until the next chapter. I hope the nap for poor frazzled Logan tides you over until then. XD</p>
<p>CW again for a panic attack, but mostly this chapter is pretty chill.</p>
<p>...did I mention that I literally cannot stop writing, someone please help me, aaaaaaaaaah? &gt;.&gt; XD</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Lord Janus? I want this man dead.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Certainly, Your Majesty.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Please—<em>mercy, </em>Your Majesty!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Now hang on there just a gosh darn, berry pickin', mother <em>lovin'</em> moment, buster! Janny, if you know what's good for you, you will just stop with this nonsense and put the flippin' sword <em>down!</em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman would have burst out laughing if he wasn't fighting so hard to keep his composure. It could hardly be helped—Patton came up to Logan's shoulder, but only just, and was standing in his cell with his hands on his hips, glaring at the captain of the royal guard like he was a child being scolded for a broken dish.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Janus hardly looked intimidated—but the fact that he stilled after drawing his sword, leaving a terrified guard trembling against the bars of the cell next to Logan's was telling. Seven years, Lord Janus had served as the head of the assassins' corps before retiring to become the captain of the royal guard. Roman had heard stories, but never met the man until today, which was hardly unusual given that Janus was a drake—the son of a human and a dragon. They were notoriously gifted shapeshifters, even with a handicap like his.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lord Janus was powerful, deadly, and highly skilled at remaining an enimga...but a hobbled child necromancer in a cell had the power to stay his hand.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Janus raised an eyebrow at Patton, but finally glanced at Roman.</p>
<p><br/>Roman nodded. Janus refocused on the guard, pushing the tip of his sword against the hollow of his throat, hard enough to draw blood.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Majesty, I beg you! I don't want to die!” the guard begged.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman let out a bemused little laugh.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How strange,” he replied as calmly as he could manage, “I was under the impression you did, given the fact that you refused, a second time, to obey a direct order from your king.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The Necromata must be bound! It's the law!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>I am the law!</em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Storming up to the guard, Roman let his emotions fuel him—exhaustion, grief, anger, confusion, and the tearing, unspeakable ache that throbbed through him every time his gaze ventured too close to the open door of the cell where Logan still leaned.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The wail he'd let out when Roman pulled free of his grip to order the cell door opened was going to haunt his sleep. The way he stood now, so carefully still, features so meticulously schooled into calm, unfeeling lines, was going to rob him of that breath of life Logan had only just returned to him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I am the king now, and I am the ultimate authority.” Roman spat. “Now, I fully understand the need to shackle a prisoner being removed from his cell, but as far as I am concerned, this man is no longer a prisoner here.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You can't--”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I think you'll find that I <em>can.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Your Majesty.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman turned at the sound of Logan's voice, cool and even but too quiet, hoarse and thick with the tears he'd finally managed to stop from streaming down his face.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The law is such that the king cannot overrule it.” Logan declared with deceptive calm. “The Necromata, once imprisoned by the royal family, can only be pardoned for the crimes of their birth with the blessing of the people. A vote, if you will...and no such vote has ever been successfully passed.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How do you know this?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I have been here for ten years with little more to do than read. I have the entire legal code of the Kingdoms and the criminal rules of order memorized, along with the family tree of the royal family and all available star maps of the area.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman wanted to scream. He wanted to hit something—for a terrible moment, he wanted to order Janus to proceed with the guard's execution for real, rather than just trying to make a point.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then inspiration struck—bright, blinding, and blessed as it filled him with light.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“My order will still be obeyed.” Roman announced. “These two necromancers—they may not be pardoned, but they will be imprisoned at my pleasure...and it is my pleasure to have them confined to guest quarters upstairs. Have extra guards posted at all available palace entrances. They are not to leave the grounds until the vote has been passed. Successfully.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He shot a look at the offending guard.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And the first person to shackle either one of them without violent provocation <em>will </em>be hung at dawn.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Janus lowered his sword and slid it back into its sheath—the cane he'd been carrying with him—before moving to Roman's side.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bit extreme, don't you think, Majesty?” he murmured once he was close enough to ensure that only Roman would hear him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“My father is dead, Lord Janus.” Roman shot back bleakly. “I have yet to shed a single tear for him--'extreme' feels like an appropriate response right about now.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Touche. Of course—and it has nothing to do with the traumatized necromancer you're apparently well acquainted with?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman didn't answer as he moved towards the open door of the cell. Standing before Logan, he extended his hand...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>...then suddenly realized that was a bad idea as he put his hand back down again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>**********<br/><br/><em>More. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan could hardly string a single coherent thought together around the constant chant in his mind, his marrow, his <em>soul </em>for the prince to touch him again. He couldn't let him, not when it was so agonizing, fire and pressure and somehow affecting every nerve in his body when it was focused on such a small area...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>More. More. More. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He didn't understand why restraining himself was so hard. It <em>hurt, </em>it was clearly doing him some kind of physical and psychological harm...and yet he wanted. <em>Needed. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>He couldn't remember ever experiencing the sensation.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It very nearly caused another panic attack when the prince dropped his offered hand—and that was another problem entirely, standing before a cell door standing wide open, and the use of the word<em> pardon </em>being thrown around like it wasn't capable of changing the world as Logan knew it—but the pause that seemed to last for an eternity must have only been a few seconds long.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Because a moment later, the Green Man—the <em>prince—</em>was reaching into his pocket and producing a pair of pristine white gloves. A missing piece of the military uniform, how had Logan not noticed? He usually noticed things like that...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he finished tugging them on, he offered his hand to Logan again. He said nothing...just waited.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan shook with the force of effort it took to reach, <em>slowly, </em>to accept the offered hand. The gloves blocked some of that heat from skin to skin contact—and when he gently folded his fingers around Logan's, barely any pressure, it was still intense...but better.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“All good, Berry?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan looked into his eyes sharply, the name ricocheting around in his skull in a manner he hadn't experienced in literal years—not since he'd first discovered his power was awakening again, all concussive force and electricity crawling against the underside of his skin.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>All at once, the years fell away, and he was asleep in his cell that first terrible night, dreaming of every monstrous shadow transforming into a protector as green eyes lit the dark.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He opened his mouth to answer yes, he was fine—then realized...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I do not know which of the princes you are.” he admitted with a bemused huff.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That got a smile from the other man—too brief, far too brief before it fractured to pieces, a crystal goblet slammed to the floor, raining shards of razor sharp light.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Roman.” he replied. “Pr—King Thomas Roman II, but you may address me by my name.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hardly acceptable, is it, Majesty?” Janus mused.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Given that my life is currently in this man's hands—and the future of my father—I'd say he's earned a few niceties, Lord Janus.” Roman announced, raising his voice to ensure everyone within earshot was aware of it. Logan had a strange feeling that Lord Janus spoke up for precisely that purpose, to make his situation known.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan's, not Roman's—Logan knew that anyone with a shred of loyalty to the king would probably kill him if given the chance. There was no question that someone would likely accuse a necromancer with ties to the crown prince of the murder. Fear for Roman's safety would keep him protected.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Janus was that kind of man, shrewd and shameless—Logan knew precious little about Prince Roman, but to discover that he was equally blessed with the gift of strategy was...intriguing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Lord Janus, see to it that Logan's cell mate is made comfortable, and shown around the north wing of the palace. That is where I would prefer they spend the bulk of their time.” Roman declared. “I will take custody of this prisoner myself. When you are done, I want you, the dungeon master, the head prison mage, and a heart healer in the war room, immediately. Send for my brother as well.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes, Your Majesty—but I cannot send you alone.” Janus replied. Surveying the guards in their presence, and grimacing with impatience, he finally took a few steps down the corridor and flagged down another guard.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You! Fetch the cadet from the graveyard patrol, now! I want him on the king's detail.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman nodded his thanks, finally turning his attention back on Logan. Between those green eyes and the warm pressure enfolding his hand, ravaging his nerves and making his chest throb with pure emotion, he wasn't sure he could stand it much longer without losing his composure.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Are you all right?” Roman asked quietly, stepping closer and into Logan's personal space. Strangely, Logan realized he could feel that as well, radiant heat and buzzing static crawling across his skin, too close and not enough and <em>everything.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>More. More. More.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I am not.” he admitted. “Hardly unusual, given that touch starvation is a common condition among the Necromata, to say nothing of the Claim.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The Claim? What's that?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan's mouth snapped shut, very real panic rising in his chest again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Whoah—Logan? Logan, breathe. Look at me, you need to breathe.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Claim. He knew, knew what Logan had done, was holding his hand and Logan could <em>feel </em>it, but now he'd spoken about the Claim, about his power, and he was going to die this time...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>...two...three...four...hold for one...two...three...four...five...</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That's it, Logan. There you go, can you do it again?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>...good job, now again: in for one...two...three...four...</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Pressure. Pressure, pressure, pressure, everywhere, pressure pressure unrelenting pressure...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan blinked, attention snapping to the young man suddenly standing in front of him. He was nearly Logan's height, with straight black hair that hung in dark eyes, flinty as stone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Name five things you can see.”</p>
<p><br/>“I...what?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do it. Five things.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan shook his head, and almost immediately his gaze was drawn back to Roman.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Green Man.” he managed to reply. Roman smiled, and Logan felt that mantra start tattooing itself against the inside of his skull, blotting out the fear and panic.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Okay, keep going. Let's keep going.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan only realized they were moving because Roman still held his hand, was tugging him with the barest of pressure—and Logan's traitorous body followed. Between the cadet, demanding Logan name more things he could see, along with touch, smell, hear, and taste, and Roman's silent encouragement, he found himself moving out of his cell and towards the stairs of the dungeon.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Moving up each stair. Moving through the gate, and into the palace...moving, traveling, with only Roman's hand to restrain him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then he was in the palace, above the dungeons...and if he never saw the outside world again, Logan still felt like he could call himself a free man.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>**********<br/><br/>“Thank you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The cadet flinched a little, looking towards the king. “What?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thank you.” King Roman repeated, still crouched motionless by the chair the prisoner had all but collapsed into. He'd basically passed out when they reached the war room, but didn't seem to be in any distress—just exhausted and overstimulated.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That trick, focusing on his surroundings—it's greatly appreciated.” he went on, his gaze never leaving the sleeping man's face. He still held his hand, like he might vanish if he let him go. “How did you know it would work?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The cadet had to grit his teeth for a second, finding himself watching the sleeping prisoner despite his best efforts not to. He looked...well, he looked like shit, and it was hard. It was so hard to watch, but he had to do it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was finally here, and he had to make sure that he didn't screw up again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I have anxiety.” he finally replied, keeping his tone even. “Nightmares, panic attacks, the works. My brother used to help me through them with tricks like that. He'd have me focus on my surroundings, or make me pick out colors—he even made me a special blanket to help me sleep. It, uh—it might be good for him? The guard who got me mentioned that this necromancer can feel your touch? If he's not used to contact, it could...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You'd be willing to do that?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Of course, sir.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Go and fetch it, then.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sir, I was ordered to stay with you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I'm the king. I overrule your orders.” King Roman replied.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The cadet lifted his gaze to the king's face, his stomach sinking when he realized he was being stared at. <em>Hard.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ohhhhh, shit.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You don't call me 'Majesty.' Why?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The cadet tried to be discreet about taking a steadying breath as he shrugged. “You have a pet necromancer now. All due respect, but I don't think you'll have the job long.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What do you know about necromancers?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know they're not evil. Only reason I'm still here is that you seem to know it, too.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>King Roman nodded, gaze flicking down before it returned to the sleeping necromancer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Cadet...do you know what a Claim is?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The cadet swallowed thickly. No...oh <em>no.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It's a binding ritual.” the cadet replied. “The Necromata are capable of manipulating death, but when they can't? They take it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Away?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No—into themselves. They take the victim's dying breath, infuse it with their blood, and return it to the person it belongs to. That way, when the victim's time comes, they survive it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The cadet looked to the necromancer again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Gods, Loganberry—what did you do?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And the necromancer dies in their place.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>To his credit, the king paled, his free hand lifting to touch Logan's hair like the cadet itched to—so close for the first time in ten years, but he couldn't even comfort him.</p>
<p><br/>He had to stay put. By the door, protecting the king and his charge.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After a decade, he was finally, <em>finally </em>within reach of Logan in every way that mattered, and he would die before he jeopardized his one chance to save him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Virgil was the one who got his big brother caught and imprisoned in the first place—he was damn well going to make sure that he was the one to set things right.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Lord Janus is a man with a past--and a drake with a treasure to protect. </p>
<p>Meanwhile, Logan fades in and out of consciousness while the king and his compatriots sort some things out--including the mysterious cadet's true identity.</p>
<p>Something is happening in Logan's mind, magic that he can't understand at his fingertips...and the palace dungeon master is hell bent on stopping it at all costs.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I am SO SORRY this took so long, but there was lots of exposition--and then Janus got mad because he wasn't getting equal time.</p>
<p>No lie: I rewrote THIS ENTIRE THING six times. Still not sure I'm happy with it, but here it is. The next one will be better, 'cause...um...I have...plans...&gt;.&gt;</p>
<p>As usual, no betas, we live on the edge over in this house. XD</p>
<p>OH! And cw for more blatant violence against children.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>1025, A.A.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“...are you an angel?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Janus turned sharply at the sound of the tiny, awestruck little voice. He finally pinned it to a dungeon cell across from the shadowy corner where he'd just sold his father's favorite pocket watch in exchange for information on Corporal Mori—a guard that had a nasty habit of roughing up some of the younger prisoners of the palace dungeons.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Janus was a liar, a cheat, and a thief—but he had no stomach for bastards like that. And anyway, he was well aware the corporal was responsible for wrenching Logan Berry's shoulder out of the socket. Janus liked Logan—he was <em>far </em>too straight laced to be anything but forthright and fair in his dealings.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was the main reason Janus let him get away with the lies he <em>did </em>tell. If Logan believed you were dealing with him in the same fashion, he'd sell out his own mother. Janus respected that, and he looked after the few people he respected.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hence digging up blackmail on the corporal—until the boy in the cell piped up with something so ridiculous it actually made Janus laugh.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Angels don't have scales, kid.” he sneered, pocketing the letters he'd been given before he ambled closer to the cell. The kid couldn't have been more than twelve, with a mop of dark curls and lapis blue eyes that were currently so wide with fascination they looked fit to pop out of his head.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Have you ever seen one?” the boy asked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Janus hesitated, then found himself laughing again. “You got me there.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The boy beamed—absolutely <em>beamed, </em>smile full of all kinds of sickening things like sunshine and rainbows. Ridiculous...yet it tugged at something in Janus's chest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Then you don't know.” the boy continued. “You've gotta have the prettiest face I've <em>ever </em>seen.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stepping right up to the door of his cell, Janus bared his teeth, his too sharp top and bottom canines on full display.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“There's nothing <em>pretty </em>about me. You'd do well to remember that.” he warned, all cold venom and as much menace as he could muster to shake the weird, squirmy feeling behind his breastbone that was only growing stronger the longer this kid looked at him like...like <em>that.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Is that why you're tryin' to prove Corproral Mori is havin' an affair with the captain of the guard's wife?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Janus froze, suddenly vaguely uncomfortable with the fact that he might have to kill a child.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You heard that?” he asked as lightly as he could manage.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The boy lowered his gaze, finally showing signs of fear—shoulders hunching, breath quickening. <em>Good.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then he wrapped one hand around his opposite wrist, wringing lightly at it and retreating a little further into himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah.” he admitted softly. “I...I hate it, I <em>hate </em>that I'm like this, but...I hope you do prove it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Janus didn't need much more to connect the dots, knowing what he did about the corporal.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Did he hurt you?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The boy looked up sharply, eyes too wide—only this time, not with awe. He remained silent, but Janus didn't need more than that look to know, or to see red with a swell of rage that took him by surprise.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What's your name, kid?” he asked quietly.</p>
<p><br/>“Patton.” the boy replied, looking even more scared as he lowered his head again. “I...don't have a Name.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Another child necromancer. Of course he was afraid of admitting that—Janus knew what he was expecting. Fear, hatred, revulsion.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The fact that this kid didn't get that Janus <em>understood </em>that...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Show me your wrist.” he instructed. “The one he broke.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Patton looked up again, eyes still wide—this time with confusion, did this kid have any other setting besides doe-eyed cherub?--but did as he was told.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Making a fist, Janus took a breath and called on what little magic he had. When he felt the heat bleeding into his fingers, saw the ripple of heat in the air and the coal red shimmer of energy, he extended his fist and opened his fingers. The energy fled his grip and laid over Patton's arm, glowing bright before going swiftly dark again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It shouldn't bother you again.” he explained when Patton withdrew his arm back into his cell and ran his fingers over it in fascination.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Looking back up at Janus, his smile was softer this time, his expression so intense and...<em>adoring </em>that he couldn't breathe under the weight of it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I'm Janus.” he said, by way of responding to that...expression before he turned around and fled the scene like a coward.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>********</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <em>Two Weeks Later</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“...Hart.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That...works surprisingly well. You'll get your books. I always pay my debts.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Past performance indicates this is an accurate assessment. Hence my request.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh...go back to bed.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Gladly.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Janus stepped back into the shadows as Logan turned and promptly settled back down on his pallet to sleep. Much as he respected him, sometimes he simply could not <em>stand </em>the elitist little shit. He was still waiting for some parting jab over his shoulder for Janus's obvious display of weakness...but the longer he waited, the less he worried.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He stayed long enough to watch Logan drift off again, remaining in the shadows beyond his line of sight. He stayed, <em>forced </em>himself to stay, so that he didn't make an ass of himself or tip his hand to anyone that might be watching—if living in the palace had taught him nothing else, it had taught him to assume that he was never alone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Once Logan started to snore, Janus finally let himself take off, flying through the dungeon halls that were his home—literally, as he hit the home stretch, taking advantage of his dragon heritage to propel himself forward with just a little more force and speed, letting him eat up stretches of corridor in half the time of a full blooded human.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He stopped just short of the cell he was looking for—the same one he'd visited nearly every single day since he'd met the angelic little necromancer that had managed to ignite every single protective instinct Janus had ever denied having. He hated it, hated to admit that he identified with any part of his dragon heritage, but Patton was, without question, a bright and golden thing amidst all the darkness that lived below the royal palace.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Janus had found him. Now, he belonged to Janus—and no dragon worth their weight could resist the overwhelming primal urge to jealously protect and hoard their treasure.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Patton!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The cot, a recent addition Janus had seen to obtaining for him, jolted with the force of a lump bolting upright, revealing a sleepy, tousled Patton blinking into the dim light of the hall.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Janny? That you?” He hissed into the dark.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Rolling his eyes, Janus finally revealed himself, stepping right up to the cell bars. “No, it's the Animator.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I <em>told </em>you not to joke about that!” Patton admonished, flinging himself out of bed and stomping up to the bars with a scowl. “I'm twelve, I can't hear that stuff!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You've never quite explained that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Patton blinked, then scrubbed his hands over his face to banish the sleep before raking them back through his curls.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“'Cause...I can't.” he admitted. “It's...it's hard to explain? The Cleansing took my Name, but there's all kinds of little crumbs that sometimes roll through my head.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Janus made a face at the mention of the Cleansing—the ritual used to strip a necromancer of their Name. It was horrific, painful, and it always made Janus a little bit sick.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He'd seen one take place in his life. It was one time too many.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And that's one of those...what you said?” Janus asked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Patton nodded so enthusiastically his curls bounced, tousling and forcing him to run his fingers through them again to sweep them from his eyes. “It's...there's something <em>important </em>about being twelve among the Necromata—and something <em>bad </em>about bad-talking the Animator. I think they might be connected, but I could be wrong.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Janus felt his chest squeeze painfully as Patton spoke, free as a bird—like this information <em>couldn't </em>be used against him, like he had no idea.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You shouldn't talk to me about that stuff.” he reminded him. “My father's the captain of the guard.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Patton just rolled his eyes with a grin. “You won't tell him, I know that—that's why I tell you stuff! It helps you, and I know you won't use it to hurt me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, you don't.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Uh huh! You're way nicer than you think you are, Mister Dragon.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I'm a drake.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You're <em>pretty.</em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Patton did this every time. Every single time, and Janus...he was not capable of blushing. He did not blush, <em>he would not blush.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know it's late, but I have something for you.” he blurted instead of responding, or blushing, watching as Patton's eyes widened, his smile growing impossibly brighter.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No foolin'? What is it?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Janus took a deep breath, warring with himself. He'd believed the stories for a long time—the evil of necromancers, that they had no souls, no morals, power hungry and constantly thirsting for fresh blood...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then he met one. Then he was disfigured...then he met Logan, and now he had this fucking <em>urchin </em>that had latched onto him with perfect faith and trust, and he was so fucked up over it that he was willing to empower him. At least, if he was right and this worked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Patton just waited. Janus lost his hesitation.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Heart.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The boy blinked, brow furrowing curiously.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Heart?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Janus nodded. “Patton Heart. They took your Name...I thought you might feel better with a new one. Something to be <em>called, </em>at least.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The little pout his mouth formed had Janus's heart sinking. It was a stupid idea, he didn't like it, and it damn sure wouldn't work--</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Patton's breath hitched, and Janus's attention narrowed to the boy.</p>
<p><br/>His dark blue eyes were shiny with unshed tears...but he was grinning. So bright, so painfully bright that Janus had to bite the inside of his cheek to resist the urge to rip the cell door off its hinges, grab the little bastard, and hide him somewhere deeper and darker where no one else could touch him or even look at him. <em>His </em>treasure, <em>his </em>gold...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Suddenly, Patton stuck his hand out through the bars.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Pleased to meetcha, Mister Dragon...I'm Patton Heart.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Cursing under his breath in annoyance—not with a smile, <em>he was not smiling—</em>Janus reached out to shake his hand.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Likewise—<em>Patton?</em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Patton was staring at their hands, features ashen. He was clutching Janus's hand hard enough to bruise—and he was absolutely <em>trembling.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Patton?...Patton, what happened? What's the matter?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Was it his wrist? It should have been fine—if Mori came after him again...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Janus, I...<em>I can feel your hand.</em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>********<br/><br/><em>1033, A.A.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Janus was not okay—and for the first time in his life, it was a <em>good </em>thing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The north wing of the palace was reserved for ambassadors and other dignitaries—a good choice to keep prisoners, as it was well guarded and the guest suites arranged with a lack of accessible windows or too many entrances to reduce the access for assassins and spies. It was also lavish, with a spacious garden area that had high walls and sprawling lawns.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Watching Patton as Janus led him into the suite he'd selected among those available for the two prisoners to share, something restless and angry that had lingered in his gut for the last eight years finally began to relax, at least a little. Here, in the north wing, cut off from other prisoners, from cruel guards and the dungeon master, now <em>Colonel </em>Mori...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His treasure was finally shuttered away, locked up and safe. The dragon that took up entirely too much space in his skin was settling, knowing that his hoard was safe.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Leaning against the doorway, Janus glanced over his shoulder and dismissed the guard that had been dispatched there, content to watch over Patton himself for a short while before he would have to return to the king's side.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Patton shuffled deeper and deeper into the suite's main living area, as if frightened his steps would be too loud or possibly shatter something. His eyes were wide as ever, taking everything in—occasionally blinking hard and fast when the bright light he was no longer used to made them sting or water.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The part of Janus that had secretly grown to look at Patton like the little brother he never had was very satisfied...but the part of him that had been growing stronger over the last couple of years, the one that was haunted by those deep blue eyes and the greedy way he stole the tiniest touches from Janus through the bars of his cell...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The one that had woken up the first time he allowed Patton to touch his face, his scales...that part of him was keenly aware of the fact that they were alone, and that Patton had <em>no fucking clue </em>that Janus had been all but crippled by his pure heart and beautiful eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Janny?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Janus regarded Patton coolly. “What?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Patton was in the middle of the room, facing him with a strange look that Janus couldn't parse. He was either distraught or...not...distraught. Whatever it was, the emotion was intense, making his eyes water and his lips quiver, and Janus was caught between bloodlust and the tender, aching thing that tortured him these days with every single second he spent in Patton's presence.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You remember your promise?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Janus had to think for a second, but he finally remembered the one promise he'd made to Patton that could apply to this situation.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>...one thing, Janny. Anything in the world you could have, what would it be?”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Swear to me you won't tell a soul.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Pinky promise!”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>...pure blood. Dragon, not human. For the wings.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Oooooh, that's a good one!”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>What...nevermind.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>What about me? That what you were gonna ask?”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Fine, yes! Happy?”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Yes—'cause I'd want to get out of this cell so I could give you a big ol' hug.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>...Seven Hells, Pat...”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Would you give it to me?”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>No.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Second chance?”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>...yes.”</em></p>
<p>
  <em><br/>“Promise?”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Promise.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I remember, Pat.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Patton just stared at him, wrapping his arms around himself—tight enough that he was shaking.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With a sigh, Janus crossed over to him and, with a glance over his shoulder to make sure they <em>were </em>alone, opened his arms.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Patton all but flew into them, pressing his face against the scales running down Janus's throat. Janus held him lightly, carefully—they'd never been able to do much through the bars of Patton's cell, but Patton had an easier time of acclimating to touch with Janus thanks to the fact that he ran cooler than a human or a dragon. Drakes tended to run cold, courtesy of their magic.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thanks, Janny.” Patton sighed after a few minutes, relaxing in small measures the longer Janus held him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Janus made a noncommittal sound, even if he was rubbing Patton's back gently, feeling like he was stealing something by holding him like this. It was perfectly innocent...but it was <em>Patton. </em>Pure, good, secretly conniving Patton, and he was letting Janus hold him like he was something equally good and pure and safe.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was just more proof that Janus was a terrible person, because he didn't give a shit.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Happy?” he asked after a moment.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Patton smiled, and Janus had to supress the urge to shiver when he felt Patton's lips curling up against his neck.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes.” he whispered, just before he burst into quiet tears, falling apart for the first time in eight years while he let Janus hold his broken pieces together in comfortable silence.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>********<br/><br/></p>
<p>“...sten here, you little brat, you may be waiting for the crown, but I've known you since—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I repeat: I <em>know </em>where the guillotine is. We can even slap him after! He won't feel it, but he'll flinch!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Remus, please!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What? He's basically calling the <em>king </em>a snot nosed child! Am I wrong?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>...voices. Voices, buzzing at the edges of Logan's self awareness, but only just...</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“He <em>is </em>a snot-nosed child, and a conduit to boot! You can't trust the gifted—not the useless conduits, not the lying mages or the spineless Sensitives—and you damn sure can't trust a godsdamned <em>necromancer</em>! Now, can we please stop talking about this <em>thing </em>like he's remotely human, finish the damn Cleansing properly this time, and get <em>my prisoner </em>back into his cell?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Or, here's an idea—you could...say...shut the fuck up and listen to the king?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Itchy. Everything itched. Why was he so godsdamned itchy?...</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>...threads. Everywhere, all over, there were dangling threads. The colors were innumerable, all glowing with varying levels of light. It was a mess...it was a massacre.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Something had been torn away, and all that was left were these threads, some long and frayed, others short and thick. All of them were brushing every part of him—soft, barely there, and absolutely maddening.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“...compulsion to simply stop living. Imagine—imagine the way you feel as you breathe. You don't think about it, it just happens. Now reverse that. To stop, to let go, to fall...that became the natural instinct. My father succumbed to the same insidious magic, I know it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“With all due respect, Majesty, it was clearly the necromancer. He's got power he's been hiding, and at the end of the day? That's what they do, they <em>kill.</em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Eh, sounds like bullshit. No necromancer's ever killed anyone before.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You're lying. There's thousands of cases, <em>tens </em>of thousands over a thousand years—I've studied it! Graduated the Academy top of my class.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So did I—first in my class, actually, and Prince Remus is right.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Shut your mouth, Cadet.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“When the Seven Hells freeze over. Read the military's historical records: they show every <em>combat </em>death, but none of them involved magic. Want proof? It's in the the Tomes, you'll see. Any sorcerer can show you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No offense, toy soldier—I mean, you're cute as the Seven Hells, but you don't strike me as the kind of guy who can speak any of the Ethereal tongues <em>needed </em>to read the magicians' histories.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I can't speak them, not really—but I <em>can </em>read them.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“...I'm a Sensitive.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Well, </em>Colonel Mori—I guess you just made yourself a new best friend. Besides me, of course...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“...Remus, get your spitty finger <em>out </em>of the colonel's ear!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Eat my thick and juicy co...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Warm. Logan was warm, a warmth he knew and understood—and being weighed down by something, a steady and evenly distributed weight that was foreign, but not so alien he wasn't familiar with the feel of pressure, from neck to foot.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>...threads, more threads, reaching out from the source of heat and heft, tickling at the surface of his consciousness—all so itchy. He had to scratch, couldn't scratch...couldn't escape, couldn't...</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Wait. The colors...that one thread, rippling with gray and white, silver and lightning...there was a matching one inside his head...</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“...the plan, then?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The plan is, we get the necromancer healthy, and have him recall the king to life...Master Picani?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Emile, please.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“--Emile, then—you were in the crowd today, with the rest of the palace mages—what do the people know?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The king was seen collapsing. I can tell you that I haven't heard any announcements being made...but the chit chat I picked up on as I was on my way here? Well, word has likely already been leaked from somewhere.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Damn it! Then the coronation will have to be arranged...and then voided once my father has been resurrected.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You know there is no guarantee it can be done, Majesty.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I do...but I have faith...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>...these threads weren't long enough. He knew where they connected to, but there just wasn't enough slack to reach the tattered edges inside his head.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>He reached out, leaned out, tried to follow them back to the source—something inside, tucked neatly into the warmth and the weight pressing, cradling, pulling him back into his prison of broken threads and torn scraps...</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>These threads were attached to something—something whole, not the entire tapestry but a piece of the picture.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“This man is a murderer! He's a demon, a killer--”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“...King Roman? A word?...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Of course, Mast—er, Emile. Master Somnum?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It's Remy, gurl.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Remy—keep an eye on Colonel Mori. Help the cadet subdue him if he does anything stupid.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Only if I can get out of prison mage detail. Being the boss is cool? But I hate this asshole.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I'll see what I can do.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“On it, Boss.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>...it was him. There was no question: <b>it was him.</b></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>He reached into the source of heat and pulled the fragment out.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“--spineless, useless Sensitives!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You wanna see how spineless I am? Take another step, Colonel. I fucking <em>dare </em>you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oooh, catfight!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“More like a two hit fight: I'll hit him, he hits the floor.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Disrespecting a superior officer? I'll have you court-martialed! Or put into the dungeons...you're too damn close to the Necromata, anyway.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We can't <em>use </em>magic, idiot stick, we can only sense or enhance it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So maybe you helped the necromancer kill the king, eh?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh-kay, Colonel Morose. <em>Back off.</em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>...this was going to be incredibly difficult. Reconnecting these shorter threads, weaving the ones together in a way that made sense...it was next to impossible....</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“...your name, Cadet?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Virgil Storm, Majesty.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Master Somnum?”</p>
<p><br/>“...he's lying.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Just a few quick knots on this edge to hold it in place—but it wouldn't stick without...</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>...there. A shuttle, knotted to the corner of the scrap, carrying a heavy length of glimmering silk. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“...<em>Seven Hells </em>is happening?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, well—hello there.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Emile? What's happening?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It appears that the prisoner is...chanelling.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I thought channeling was used to heal?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It is—among other things, so don't fucking touch him.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Cadet, shut the--”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Colonel Mori, <em>quiet. </em>Virgil—what's going on? Why can't I touch him?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“...'cause you're a conduit. You have a ton of magic and no ability to use it, so it's all pent up and shit. Touch him, and you could interfere with what's happening. Your magic, I mean...it can leak out and wreck everything.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Is there a spell on this blanket you brought for him?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sort of.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What does that mean?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Nothing I'm willing to share with an outsider. It's sacred knowledge.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, for the love of...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>...the work was fast, he could finish this edge swiftly—the shuttle was liquid lightning, his fingers moving of their own accord...</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“..for not even an hour, and there's a jailbreak in progress?!?...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I...Lord Janus...how did you even--”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I joined the assassin's corps when I was eighteen, and I killed the captain when I was nineteen to take his place. I make it a point to know everythng that happens in this castle.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Relax, Lord Janus—I have this in hand. Virgil.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I swear, on the Spider's Thread, that you can trust me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“...Majesty?...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“...Janus, Remy, get Colonel Mori out of the room.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>...it was done. It was...perfect.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>It was...</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“--get that thing away from him if I--”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Colonel, <em>stop!</em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>...oh, <b>shit...</b></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sudden lightness. Cold, cold, cold.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>The shuttle slipped through his fingers.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Pain, searing pain from head to toe.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>If he lost it, he couldn't finish, he had to finish or it would slip away.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sound, fury, crushing weight--</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <b>Fingers in his hair. Gentle pressure on his scalp.</b>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <b>A hand in his.</b>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Hold on. Do not let go.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>I never have. I never will.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Loganberry?...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>The shuttle landed in the palm of his hand. He grabbed on tight--</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>--and opened his eyes.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Logan knew, for a long time now, that he had a brother--but now, he remembers who his brother is.</p>
<p>Virgil joined the royal guard to bust Logan out. Logan's a stubborn creature, so instead Virgil tells him about his powers--and accidentally helps Logan realize that someone hasn't been totally honest with him.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Plot is happening, way too much exposition--also, who let me have nice things? I DO MEAN THINGS. &gt;.&gt;</p>
<p>But the next chapter will be adorable. And come way faster.</p>
<p>Also special thanks to Lurking Ghost, who noticed something I did and gave me ideas. You're sharp as a damn tack, have a ton of cookies and also expect future angst. XD &lt;3</p>
<p>No beta, no problem--I'm sorry I'm so hung up on lore and world building and shit, but I'm just having a lot of fun okay? Okay. &gt;.&gt;</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Logan was running.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Clutching the book against his chest with one arm, clinging to his little brother's hand with the other, he was running for his life as the looming figure pounded down the corridor after them. Everything was dark, too dark...</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>There. Light. Souls Eternal, what in the Seven Hells was he still doing there?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Stopping dead, Logan faced Virgil. Briefly, he wished he could feel the little hand in his—because if </em>he <em>was here, there was only one way this could end.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Looking around furiously, he realized there was no other choice. Facing Virgil, Logan gripped his shoulder and held his gaze in the dark.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>That open door—go hide behind it.” </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>No.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>The Spider does not question, he spins for his Weaver—just this once, Stormcloud, I'm begging you, do as I say without arguing!”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>He gave Virgil no other opportunity to argue—shoving Virgil towards the sliver of light, Logan watched him stumble forward, then look over his shoulder.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>I'm right behind you.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>The little boy scowled, but his figure swiftly moved, and his footsteps pattered against the stone.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>It was the first lie he'd ever told his brother.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Turning away, lest he lose his resolve, Logan frantically tried to remember what he'd been told. The corners, the crevices...the hidden secrets of--</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>--yes. It was perfect.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Bolting down the corridor, Logan frantically shed his jacket and wrapped the book up as tightly as he could, dropping to his knees with enough force to bruise them. Pulling up the grate, he lowered his precious cargo into it...</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Two hands grabbed him at the same time—one from the sewer, the other the back of his collar.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Panicked, Logan blindly grabbed the hand in the sewer, the one he knew, fingers gripping his with a desperate force that was painful...</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Hold on.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>He coughed, gagging as his collar cut his throat. His back hummed with the proximity of the larger body behind him, but the hand in the dark...</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>He strained to see into the shadows, lookin for that glimpse of light—just one look, just one...</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Loganberry!”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>There was no other way.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Do not let go.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>The moon was slow rising in the sky, a sliver of light moving to illuminate the dark for just an instant—and it was enough.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em><br/>“I never have. I never will.”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>The hand at his collar yanked, and Logan's fingers slid free, throbbing—</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Logan?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan blinked—and the world had changed. Gone was the dim light of the war room, gone was the dark, muffled nightmare he'd been momentarily caught in. He was in a corridor of polished stone walls and pale marble floors. What little light that numerous windows didn't provide, lamps mounted on the walls did, casting soft white light into the space from the magically created luminary globes set in each one.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey, you back?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He turned towards the sound of his name, disoriented. His movements felt slow, encumbered...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Looking down at himself, Logan realized he was clinging to a blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a cape. It glimmered with a film of energy he couldn't pinpoint—until he realized it was connected to <em>him. </em>He was the one creating it, could feel his magic woven through the fabric. His awareness was caught in the stitches and the heavy beads of glass within...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Glass? No...not glass. Crystal...just under his fingers, clear quartz beads for calm and comfort, drawing away the fear and the panic...</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>All at once, the heavy haze started to settle over him again, the half sleep he'd been in before—but he knew what to do now. Some part of him had always known, even without a Name to tell him how it worked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Shutting his eyes, Logan bowed his head and let the haze take him over, dragging him back into the dark until he could feel it, glossy wood biting his fingers as he held on tight, thick warm spider silk touching his fingertips.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Logan—wait, here.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He couldn't feel the hand that slipped into his, but his fingers tingled, and pulled him swiftly back into the dark.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Loganberry!”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>The little boy, his voice in the dark, screaming Logan's name...his little brother...</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Virgil.</em> <em>That was the name of the fragment, and suddenly it made all the sense in the world. There was something else, something bothering him, something stopping him from finishing the picture but he could fix this. The shoddy weaving, the places where the thread had torn when he was ripped away from his work too soon.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>He labored for hours. For seconds.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan let the blanket fall and opened his eyes as the glittering film of energy vanished.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Immediately, his eyes locked with the dark ones from his...dream?...even through the dark, he recognized them. The face was older, the fear less intense, hope now sitting where blind panic had once been...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It wasn't a dream. It was a <em>memory.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Stormcloud.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He watched the cadet's face crumble just before Virgil launched himself at Logan. He caught the younger man easily, wrapping him up tight and greedily running his hands over his arms, his back, unable to feel his warmth or his presence but relishing the faint hum of proximity, the resistance that wouldn't let his arms close fully—reassuring himself that Virgil wasn't just safe, but that he was really <em>here.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Four years old and terrified, cuddled up to Logan's side to watch the needle and thread. Seven years old, cloaked in fear as his ceremonial garb, every thought clear and sharp as the razor's edge. Eight years old, spinning silk for Logan's loom, bound to his side as Logan reaches for the Tome...screaming his name in the dark as Logan is dragged away by the man with the sword...</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It worked.” Virgil gasped, drawing back to grin at him with fresh tear tracks on his face. “It worked, it really worked, Souls and holy <em>shit </em>it worked--”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Not completely, but enough to know that I'm going to kill you myself if you're not executed for <em>engineering a jailbreak.</em>” Logan snapped, clutching Virgil's face between his hands. His own cheeks felt wet, his vision blurry with a stream of tears he couldn't stop, and he <em>had </em>to stop because his powers had to stay in check...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Virgil. Virgil, Virgil, a cadet of the royal guard, a criminal, his baby brother, his Spider.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan pulled Virgil close again, pressing his nose to Virgil's temple. His hair still smelled like damp stone from sleeping on the floor all the time. The shoulders Logan had his arms around were lean, but powerful—how old was he now? Nine years old when Logan was imprisoned...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You're nineteen.” he realized aloud, finally letting Virgil go so he could look into his face again. “I didn't know, I knew I had a brother but I didn't know...I didn't know you...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Shut up, you can pretend you aren't all emotional and shit later.” Virgil soothed, stepping back to grab the blanket off the floor. Logan couldn't quite remember making it, but he knew he had. He could see Virgil with his thumb in his mouth, feel the tug on the half finished blanket as Virgil pulled one end to rub the soft fabric against his nose and cheek, feel the sting of the needle as he pricked himself...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>OW!”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Wha' happen?”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>I stuck my finger with the needle—there's blood on the blanket now.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>We can wash it.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>No, we most certainly cannot.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Loganberry! Tha's so gross!”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Falsehood. This is advantageous—we must let the blood dry first. See where it fell? It will soak through and charge the crystal pocket with my personal magic. That way, when you need it? You can wrap up in the blanket, and you'll feel me there with you.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>...promise?”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>I swear it.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Lo...you gotta do it.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Souls<em>—how is a few drops of blood more inherently disgusting than a spit handshake? Fine...”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The crystals that made this a healing charm—my blood charged them with my personal magic.” he realized aloud, staring at Virgil in shock. “You snuck this in here hoping to restore my Name with it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“At least some of your power, but looks like I didn't have to go to the trouble.” Virgil shot back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You could have been <em>killed! </em>If the nature of the power had been discovered—oh, I am going to murder you myself once I—“</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Souls, </em>Lo, do you have to go full bloodlust all the time?” Virgil laughed, grinning as he grabbed Logan's arm to pull him along while he started walking down the corridor. “Even after ten years, nothing changes.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I will take your word for it, as my memory has not been restored.” Logan replied, planting his feet as he gave his surroundings more serious consideration. The opulence of this area, the magical lighting instead of standard torches...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“All I have back is you, Storm—that said, where are we? How did we get here?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The residential wing of the castle—you brought us here.” Virgil explained, gesturing to the end of the corridor he was still trying to pull Logan away from. “You were channeling in the war room, but Mori tried to kill you by taking the blanket off...I thought he was gonna strangle you. Then you woke up, but your eyes were...weird. You just...stood up and bolted.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan started to move towards the door, pulling Virgil with him. “Where is the king? And...the others? I was in and out of consciousness...Emile and Remy?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The heart-healer and the prison mage, yeah—couple members of the royal council spotted you heading this way, and word's out that Colonel Mori's been arrested. Roman's doing damage control with Prince Remus, I don't know where the others are. Doesn't matter, though, <em>Logan will you stop and let me get you out of here?”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Loganberry, what the actual fuck?!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I'm not leaving. I have to resurrect the king.” Logan reminded him, head twisting around to regard Virgil with genuine confusion. Did Virgil really not understand this? He was Logan's Spider, he...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>...didn't know where that came from. Didn't know what it meant.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>The Spider does not question, he spins for his Weaver.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Okay, one? You couldn't even if you wanted to, his Barrier is still open—you try to raise him now, the wrong soul could end up in his body. For another? He's the king and <em>you're a necromancer. </em>This is a jailbreak, remember? We're getting you out of here.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Virgil emphasized his point by tugging on Logan's arm again, but Logan didn't move.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was something else, something he wasn't seeing. Something about this...it felt <em>off.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Logan, we don't have time to fight about the life of a royal, okay? You don't remember why they can't be trusted--”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yet you trust him.” Logan pointed out. “You call him Roman, not 'His Majesty' or 'King Thomas Roman.' He...said something in the war room...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Virgil finally let go of Logan's arm to start pacing back and forth in front of him. With a practiced flick, he draped the blanket around his shoulders—a petulant gesture Logan recognized. He <em>recognized </em>it, <em>remembered </em>it...the feeling was so alien to him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah, I do—Souls help me, I trust him.” Virgil replied. “He swore on the Spider's Thread.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And?...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And...you're a Weaver.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You realize I do not know what that is.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Virgil stopped pacing, then sighed and removed the blanket to drape it over his arm.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Can we get out of here first so I can at least pretend I'm taking you to your quarters?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Quarters?...their rooms. <em>Patton.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That is acceptable.” Logan relented, relieving Virgil of the blanket so he could walk unencumbered, as a guard ought to with a prisoner in tow.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The Necromata aren't necromancers—they're a tribe.” Virgil explained as they walked, keeping his voice low as his gaze darted furtively around. “<em>We're </em>a tribe. Not every necromancer can raise the dead, some can foresee it or forestall it. The seers are the Black Dogs, the healers are the Reapers, and the resurrectionists are the Weavers. That's what you are.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan thought of the magic he'd worked on instinct, the strange trancelike state that brought him the image of the shuttle, wound with spider's silk.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The shuttle and thread...” he murmured.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan's stride faltered as Virgil crowded closer unexpectedly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Yes. </em>So it worked, then?” he hissed excitedly. “We're connected?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I...believe?” Logan hedged uncertainly, the phrase echoing in his head again. “'The Spider does not question, he spins for his Weaver.' Are you...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Your Spider, yeah. I'm your familiar.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“My <em>what? </em>Familiars--”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“--aren't stupid animals, idiot stick, that's for outsiders. Familiars are Sensitives that are connected to other necromancers, a perfect match to the power they wield. A Sensitive that's bonded to a necromancer as a familiar can actually do a little magic in tandem with their partner. You're pretty powerful on your own, you always have been, but when we realized we were matched? You got scary good.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So...Weavers raise the dead. And Spiders help them do it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“More or less. We were bonded when you got your True Name—it means you can draw focus and some small amount of magic from me, and I can communicate with ghosts. The souls you restore to life.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“My...<em>True </em>Name?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah—Loganberry. Every one of the Necromata has one.” Virgil replied, his features softening with a strange mixture of grief and gratitude. “Necromancy is rooted in memory, that's why being stripped of your Name wipes it out—makes you powerless. Your True Name, though, is rooted in identity. There are stories that say a True Name has the power to undo the Cleansing...I guess it's kind of true, since you have your powers.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan fell silent, despite lacking certain answers. That feeling that something was off, it was only growing stronger. Something about names...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So, the Spider's Thread?...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The oath Roman swore? Yeah—it's a reference to the Animata. Outsiders say they kept the Necromata in check? It's total bullshit. The Animata weren't life manipulators, they were a tribe of twin spirits—a being born with two souls. The Spider's Thread is the bond that exists between Animata and Necromata...necromancers don't have souls, but one that finds their Animata lays claim to their second soul, and...well, it's basically immortality. For both of them. That's why the familiars of the Weavers are <em>called </em>Spiders, 'cause we provide the thread that lets Weavers return souls to the Living Tapestry.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Immortality...an immortal necromancer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>...like the Animator, the First of their kind. The necromancer so powerful, he still marked the passage of time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>A.A.--After Animator.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How does he know about that, anyway?” Virgil asked. “That's not common knowledge outside the tribe—Logan? Logan, talk to me. What's wrong?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Virgil's voice was fading. The world was going dark around the edges of Logan's vision again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>In the dark, pulled in two directions. Choking at the hands of one, latching onto another for dear life.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Grabbing blindly. Fingers gripping his, fingers he knew...</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Loganberry?...Logan!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Gripping with a desperate force that was painful.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“...stay here, okay? I'm gonna get someone--”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan grabbed Virgil's hand as hard as he could. He looked down at their joined hands, watched Virgil's knuckles turn white with the force he was using to hold on in return.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan couldn't feel it. He wouldn't even feel it if Virgil broke his fingers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>The hand in his memory hurt, burned, seared...</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>He could feel the hand in his memory.</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Hold on.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Logan strained to see into the shadows of the sewer, prayed for one final look.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>The moonlight shifted. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Green eyes glittered in the momentary illumination.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Loganberry!”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“He knew.” Logan breathed, releasing Virgil's hand. “He didn't come out of kindness, he came because <em>he knew.</em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Knew what? Logan, who are you talking about?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>His voice was strangled, barely audible, but the words echoed in Logan's ears and cut out the heart he wished to the Souls that he did not have.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Do not let go.” he demanded, begged through clenched teeth.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>If he pulled Logan down, the man behind him might follow. Then they would both die.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>There was no other way.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Maybe he thought I'd remember, maybe...maybe he thought I'd escape...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Logan, <em>who?”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Logan squeezed Prince Roman's hand as tightly as he could. He burned those green eyes into his brain, hoping he could carry them with him into the Void when he was gone.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>I never have. I never will.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>He never did—he hung on until the grip on his collar finally yanked him out of the fourteen year old prince's grasp.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Roman—Virgil, <em>I knew him. </em>Before. I...I think he might be the reason I was arrested.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The secret history of Logan and Roman begins to come to light while little pieces of Roman's world start to fall apart around him, resulting in a late night confrontation that exposes Roman's role in reuniting Virgil with his big brother.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So...guess who lost her whole frickin' chapter, but found a backup last night? IT ME. XD</p>
<p>Also, this was getting really bloated and I'm still not 100% sure this is making sense? But expect the next chapter VERY shortly 'cause it's already half written. &gt;.&gt;</p>
<p>If this sucks, it's my fault, because one: BETAS ARE FOR WUSSES AND WRITERS WHO ARE FAR MORE CONSCIENTIOUS AND TALENTED THAN I AM CAUSE THEY HAVE ACTUAL STANDARDS AND STUFF, and two: I'm like...SUPER dying to get to the parts where everyone kisses so I can start my series of smutty one shots for all the couples...oops, did I say that out loud? XD</p>
<p>If you have commented thus far, know that you are cooler than I am, and I'll literally respond to everyone. Takes a minute with my shitty internet, but IMMA TELL YOU ALL HOW GREAT U ARE AJKADLJ;FASKL; XD</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>1020, A.A.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hold on...just hold on...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It took all his effort to stay calm, keeping the rhythm of his compressions steady the way Remus taught him. It was different, watching his twin tap-tap-tap the chest of a tiny kitten and blowing a careful stream of air into its snout—this was a <em>boy, </em>an entire person and his skin was pale as marble, lips tinged the blue of Father's lapis ring...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The body under his hands spasmed, a gush of water suddenly erupting from his mouth. Thinking as quickly as he could, Roman tipped the boy's head to the side so he could spit the water on the grass beside the river that ran behind the palace, and not swallow it back into his lungs—but you couldn't swallow things into your lungs, could you? Was it wrong? Was he doing this wrong?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>...pulse. He should feel for a pulse, right? That's what Remus said...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman pressed fingers to the boy's throat, sagging when he felt the rapid flutter of a heartbeat there...at least until the boy twisted away and scrambled back, still hacking and shaking from the chill air and his sodden clothing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Blue eyes met green, and eleven year old Prince Roman Sanders was struck breathless by the most beautiful person he had ever seen in his short life.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Careful—it's all right, I won't hurt you.” he soothed, raising his hands and remaining on his knees. “I just want to make sure you're okay.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The other boy blinked, water dripping off clumped eyelashes like diamonds falling to roll down his wet cheeks. He had jet black hair, plastered to his head, and even with his heart beating again, his skin was still so pale. His eyes sparkled like the river water itself, clear and bright and so blue it almost hurt to look at them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I...was dead.” the other boy hiccuped, bringing a hand to his chest as his brow furrowed in confusion.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I...well, yeah. I mean, your heart wasn't beating, so I used the vital breath to make it start again. My brother taught me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The boy blinked, his thin but well formed lips drawing into a curious pout that made him flinch, made him reach up and touch his lower lip—sporting a shallow cut that matched one on Roman's, where he'd been a little too forceful pressing his mouth to the boy's so he could force air into his lungs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You...you brought me back from the dead.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman blinked—but when he said it like that, he supposed that he had. <em>Wow.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I didn't use magic.” he said instead of...literally anything else. “I swear it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“On the Spider's Thread?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What's that?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The bond that unites souls.” the boy explained. “It's the most sacred oath in the world, 'cause if you break it the Fates will tear you from the Living Tapestry.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What's the Living Tapestry?” Roman asked, shifting to edge closer to the boy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The world.” he replied through chattering teeth. “And all the people in it...and you <em>stopped </em>them. You stopped Fate.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“But—I didn't use magic. I didn't...<em>really </em>stop Fate, I...I just...you were floating in the river, and—I had to <em>try.” </em>Roman explained, feeling strange with all this talk of bonded souls and raising the dead, and how <em>pretty </em>the boy was.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Is...is that okay?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The boy watched him with a look Roman couldn't make heads or tails of...but after a moment he nodded.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It's okay.” he assured him, shifting onto his knees slowly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Good.” Roman replied, then winced a little when the <em>clickclickclickclick </em>of the boy's chattering teeth became audible.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You're so cold—you'll catch your death without some dry clothes.” He looked down at himself—equally wet from diving into the river to pull the boy out. “I could bring you back to the palace to dry off and--”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I can't go there.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman flinched at the forceful way he said it, harsh and tinged with fear. He didn't need to be his brother to connect the dots.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The boy knew a lot about death magic, and he was afraid of the palace. He was Necromata...but he was small and beautiful and shivering, and he wasn't sure anyone so awestruck by the vital breath, of all things, could be as evil as he'd been raised to believe.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Could </em>they?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman thought for a moment, then struggled to his feet and started pulling off his tailored white tunic, leaving him in a simple black cotton undershirt.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What--”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I'm going to walk you home.” Roman insisted. “You're in no shape to be by yourself—and if I'm dressed like a citizen, no one will recognize me as a prince! You'll be safe.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The boy watched him as he finished stripping off anything that would mark him as nobility, even discarding his boots so he was walking barefoot. When he was done, the boy was still kneeling on the ground, just...staring at him.</p>
<p><br/>“What?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You said 'citizen.' Not 'commoner.'”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman made a face. “I don't like the word. I don't think people are common—I like to watch the roads from my bedroom window and imagine all the stories that the people who travel them have to tell. Common people are boring, and how can anyone with so many stories be <em>boring?</em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The boy hesitated, but finally started to get to his feet.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thank you...apologies. I don't know which prince you are.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Roman. I'm Prince Roman.” he offered, extending his hand to the boy to help him up. “And I swear—by the Spider's Thread—that I will see you home safe.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Regarding the hand thoughtfully, the boy reached up to take it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Salutations, Your Highness. I am Logan Crofter.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Their fingers touched—and Roman's heart froze when the other boy screamed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>**********<br/><br/><em>1033, A.A.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>At the end of the day, Your Majesty, the truth will come out: you're not merely a pawn of the necromancer. You're in league with him—and the Sanders line will fall from power. After all, twins don't long survive the death of their other half—or so the stories say.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>The words were going to haunt Roman long past the resurrection of his father—then again, so was the broken hand that still throbbed where he'd punched the court mage in a fit of blind fury.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Roman!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He stopped in his tracks, finally allowing himself to take stock of his surroundings: he was storming down the corridor that would lead to the north wing, where Patton and Logan were being kept. Head still spinning with the angry shouts and protests of both royal advisors and soldiers loyal to Colonel Mori, he'd fled the crowded throne room after breaking the mage's jaw with only the sound of his brother's cackling to comfort him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Without his permission, his feet were trying to carry him towards the necromancer—towards <em>Logan.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>The one who was depending on him. The one who was helping him...the one...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Footsteps pounded behind him. His eternal, steady awareness of his own twin was all that kept Roman from being startled by the hand that grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Roman.</em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Remus stood there in front of him, hands on his shoulders, wearing an uncharacteristically sober expression. For one moment, in his mind's eye he saw Logan and Virgil, somewhere in the palace, having a similar encounter—the image had clung to the back of his thoughts since a discreet intrusion from Remy let him know that Logan was okay, his hope for both of them a fantasy he couldn't stop himself from willing into reality.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan had his brother back. Virgil had his...the notion of it made Roman ache, brought him dangerously close to thinking about things he couldn't entertain. Not a hint, not even a memory.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Hold on.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Do not let go.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>I never have...I never will.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman was clutching at Remus's hands on his shoulders before he could stop himself, staring down his twin. For a second, Remus's eyes widened and his gaze grew distant—looked at him like he wasn't there, didn't seem to see him through whatever wheels were turning in his head...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then the wall came down, his hands slid away from Roman's...his arms opened, and Roman collapsed into them. He felt the tears fall, then stream, then shook with sobs torn from his marrow. The dangerous memories fell away, replaced instead by the chill of the king's lifeless body, the stillness in Roman's arms, the stiffness of rigor setting in as he held him close before the guards forced him back into the castle.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His father was dead.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Father was dead.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Father was dead.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In the heart of the palace, Roman came apart, and Remus gently put him back together with strong arms, soft words, and shared pain.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>**********<br/><br/><em>1021, A.A.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You're sure this is all right?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Of course not.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Then why am I here?”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Because I wish it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The pair were walking by the river, Logan's request. He wouldn't tell Roman anything more than that he had to do something as part of his training, and that he wanted Roman's help. Logan's Grandpap didn't know he was doing it, Roman lied about being sick to get out of his lessons and sneak out for the afternoon...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was confusing as hell, and Roman would be a <em>lot </em>more afraid of the chances he was taking if it were anyone <em>but </em>Logan asking him to do this.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“But what if your Grandpap finds out about...whatever we're doing, and you get in trouble?” Roman protested.</p>
<p><br/>“Then he can...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan trailed off and stopped walking with a frown before fumbling with uncharacteristic clumsiness to reach into his pocket for the vocabulary cards that had been a staple since Roman started teaching him outsider slang. The clumsiness came from reaching into his right pocket with his left hand—because his right hand was busy being firmly enmeshed with Roman's.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“...'deal.'” Logan finished once he'd pulled the cards out and read the top one. Glancing up to meet Roman's gaze, he offered him the small, triumphant smirk that anyone else might read as arrogant confidence. Roman knew it was all Logan allowed himself in moments of triumph—pride in the hard-won victories.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You've been studying.” Roman observed, doing a miserable job of hiding a smile.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan stopped in his tracks, released Roman's hand, and shuffled through the vocabulary cards for another one, speaking as he displayed it for Roman's evaluation.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“'Duh.'”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman dissolved into giggling, and on impulse reached out, pulling Logan into a hug. The ten year old boy immediately tensed, breath stilling at the unexpected embrace.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman didn't let go, but he did loosen his arms for Logan's benefit. He waited to see if he'd bolt or...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman watched the vocabulary card flutter to the ground as Logan let them go, and very deliberately wrapped his arms around Roman's waist, laying his cheek against Roman's shoulder. He was still tense, but held on.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Too much?” Roman asked softly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes.” Logan replied.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hurts?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Should I stop?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“...no. I...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Breathe, Logan. Remus says it's important to breathe—and important to take it slow 'cause you're touch starved.” Roman reminded him. “I'm sorry I didn't ask first, but I really don't want to hurt you. I'll let go if you ask me to.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know, just...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What is it, Logan?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“...<em>more.</em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The way his voice fractured and his arms reflexively tightened broke something inside of Roman as he did as he was asked: held tighter, pressed his face to Logan's hair, stood still and gave hugging his best friend his whole attention.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That was the moment Logan let out a shaky sigh and sagged in Roman's arms. He didn't know what it was, but he had to be <em>thinking </em>about touching Logan for it to stop hurting. Sometimes it was still too warm and too overwhelming, but it didn't seem to hurt him as bad when he was just standing there, willing his whole attention into Logan.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“...it's the Warping.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman frowned a little, lifting his head just enough to rest his cheek against Logan's hair instead of his whole face. “What?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The Warping.” Logan repeated quietly, his breath puffing warm against Roman's neck. “I must commune with the dead as part of my training. The fiber strung onto the loom for weaving is called the warp, while the fiber that is strung across this is called the weft. The Warping is preparing myself to learn how to find the Loom of Memory—a state of consciousness where I can work my power properly.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman nodded against Logan's head. “What do I need to do?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Just be with me...technically, I am supposed to do it alone, but I researched the ritual, and it is believed that, in the Old Times, a Weaver could bring their Animata to the Warping.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“But I'm not an Animata.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, but the Animata's defining characteristic was that they were twin souls—and you are a twin. I believe your presence will be acceptable.” Logan replied. “I...am supposed to acclimate myself to the emotions of the dead. It's not really my strongest area—feelings—and...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan didn't finish. Just held on, tensing a little, then relaxing—leaning into Roman's embrace.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You're afraid.” Roman finished for him softly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fear is an emotion. I feel nothing.” Logan insisted petulantly—and it <em>was </em>petulant with the way he huffed soft against Roman's neck. “Necromancers have no souls with which to feel.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So you keep saying.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It's true.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Silence fell again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“...if I had a soul, however...I would entrust it to you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman felt something in his stomach tremble at that, soft and shivery and bright.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Swear it on the Spider's Thread?” he asked softly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan didn't answer right away—as he did with things he was never terribly sure of.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Grandpap says that the Spider's Thread is woven by Fate, not by magic.” he replied instead of a real answer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman fell silent at that, just holding onto Logan and trying to ignore the way that having Logan close like this, pledging him his non-existent soul, quiet breaths on his neck and head on his shoulder made his chest warm, made his heart do pleasant, squirmy things in his chest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do...you believe in Fate, Logan?” he asked softly, not sure why he suddenly felt like holding his breath. Fortunately, he didn't have to.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Like most things Logan knew—which was almost <em>everything—</em>he answered immediately.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I have since I met you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>**********<br/><br/><em>1033, A.A.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman couldn't sleep that night—which was a good thing, seeing as how his room was invaded at three AM.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It happened silently, but he was emotionally raw and vaguely paranoid after what had happened to his father, after the threats made against him and all he cared for by the members of his own guard, his own <em>court</em>—or, perhaps, he just felt Logan's magic still teeming in his veins, keeping his heart beating and his lungs full of air. Maybe the nearness of him set something off, magic calling to magic.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>One moment, the dark was empty and gaping like the hole in his chest that lingered ever since his breakdown in the halls with Remus, and the next it opened wider before filling with a presence that teased him with both the promise of danger and comfort.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When the blade touched his throat, he already had his hand under the pillow.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Virgil, <em>don't.</em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman expected Logan's voice—he did not, however, expect that Logan had <em>company.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Snapping his fingers to call to life the luminaries in his room, Roman sat up and pulled his hand out from under his pillow, a dagger in his hand and pressed to the hollow of the cadet's throat. Virgil hissed—actually hissed <em>out loud—</em>and backpedaled, his own dagger dragging a thin line against the side of Roman's throat.</p>
<p><br/>“OW! You venomous little shit!” he spat, touching his bleeding neck as he blinked against the onslaught of light.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His hand was jerked away, and cool fingers probed his throat with deft, clinical precision. Abruptly, his head grew foggy with something akin to sleep, but cold and light...Logan's magic working, taking control of him again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Relax—I'm not taking your mind, I'm healing you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You're <em>what?! </em>Logan, you're a Weaver! You can't heal!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman had to work at it a little, but his free hand lifted to rub his eyes. When he let it fall again, he had Logan sitting on the edge of his bed, hand pressed to his chest just below his collarbone, eyes lit up with that dazzling blue-white, misty light again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Apparently, I can when I'm animating someone.” Logan pointed out, lifting his hand and running it along Roman's throat. The touch, with Logan so close, raised gooseflesh on his skin—and there was a lot of it, given Roman slept only in loose trousers and nothing else.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Virgil leaned in as he sheathed his dagger, his eyes going wide. “Ohhhhhh, <em>shit. </em>Oh shit oh shit oh shit...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman reached up, following the trail Logan's palm had taken—and found no trace of the wound. Not even a scar remained.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>What troubled him was that Virgil was right. It wasn't something Roman was allowed to know, something he couldn't glean from the things he read in secret or the tidbits Remus shared from his Anima lovers...and he couldn't communicate how he knew.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan looked at Virgil pointedly over his shoulder, then turned back to Roman when his brother fell silent again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I apologize for the unexpected arrival, but Virgil insisted on secrecy once he realized he'd been exposed.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“E-exposed?” Roman stammered, his head still spinning with surprise, the lingering effects of Logan's power, and very genuine confusion. “I don't understand.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah, you do.” Virgil snapped, folding his arms. “You knew who I was before Master Picani felt my connection to Logan and outed me in the war room. That's how I got in, and with a shard of Necromatic magic hidden in a healing object, no less.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman felt his blood run cold, and in a manner that was anything <em>but </em>light or misty like Logan's magic.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don't deny it: I asked around after Logan got back to Patton this evening. You personally cleared me when I applied to join the guard. Pair that with the fact that Logan <em>remembers </em>the night he was arrested? And you're lucky he stopped me from killing you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The world stopped turning in that instant. Everything came to a halt, from the spinning of the earth to the beating of his heart as he met Logan's eyes—those crystal blue depths that he barely kept at bay, the swirling tempest that he restrained for ten years...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman balled his hands into fists and tried to remember how to breathe again around the nameless emotion trying to claw its way out of his heart.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You...remember me, Logan?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan just stared at him, features inscrutable. His brow furrowed, his lips pursed—he was thinking, he was...uncertain.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I was half conscious in the war room.” he finally replied. “The Spider's Thread—Virgil told me what that oath references. I...I don't remember you, but I feel certain you swore that oath for a reason.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The nameless feeling in his heart grew claws, ripped and tore and drew blood.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I did.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“...when did we meet?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ten years ago. The night we met in the dungeon.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And how long have we known each other?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman shut his eyes, bowing his head to avoid that look, those eyes that would unmake him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“...thirteen. We've known each other for thirteen years.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Roman and Logan reconnect. Remus and Virgil find some common ground. There are too many secrets--but the royals finally expose a big one to the Crofter brothers: the one that ultimately led to Logan's imprisonment and the destruction of their family.</p><p>Meanwhile, Janus is looking for some information from his treasure trove--and Patton is more than happy to provide it to him.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This sucks, but I don't care: WE FINALLY HAVE LOGINCE AND MOCEIT CUDDLES AND I'M SO HAPPY. XD </p><p>I'm also stupidly sorry for this cliffhanger...but I swear to you, the next lapse between chapters won't be NEARLY this long. &gt;.&gt; XD</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>1033, A.A.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Logan asked Virgil to leave. With murder in his eyes, Virgil acquiesced.</p><p> </p><p>And when the door clicked shut...they were alone.</p><p> </p><p>For long moments, the silence was deafening. They sat there, staring at each other—Logan seated on the edge of the bed, and the king with the blankets pooled around his waist, bare chested and staring at Logan as if...</p><p> </p><p>Logan's mouth suddenly went dry as his heart seemed to grow in his chest, swelling to the point that it compressed his lungs against his ribcage, preventing him from drawing breath.</p><p> </p><p>Silently, Roman extended his hand, palm up. It took Logan abruptly back to the visitations in his dreams, anchored by the feel of human contact he thought he had only before imagined. The reality of it was so much more, so intense—so <em>necessary </em>he could hardly stand to think about it.</p><p> </p><p>And yet, with the king's silent offer, Logan was helpless to resist it, reaching out to slide his hand into Roman's. Their fingers meshed with the ease of experience—through dreams or through the history that had been stolen from him, Logan could not say, but that alien ecstasy of skin on skin felt so right it hurt.</p><p> </p><p>“I have dreamed of this for so long.”</p><p> </p><p>Logan looked up from where he'd been staring at their joined hands, spellbound. For a day now, he'd been in the presence of his Green Man, seen his true face, but this was the first time he'd actually been alone with him since...</p><p> </p><p>“So have I.” he confessed. “Every time you came to me.”</p><p> </p><p>Roman blinked, confused—then a light went on behind his eyes, making them snap with something electric and so alive it made Logan's chest tight.</p><p> </p><p>“They...were real.” he realized. “I wasn't dreaming.”</p><p> </p><p>“You were, but... we were inhabiting the same dream at the same time.” Logan explained softly. “Knowing who you are now, it's unsurprising. Conduits cannot use the magic within them, but it does make certain forms of involuntary magic possible—such as dream walking.”</p><p> </p><p>“I've never done it with anyone else before.”</p><p> </p><p>Logan frowned. “That <em>is </em>unusual. If that was the case, the ability would be consistent.”</p><p> </p><p>He paused, then felt something in the core of him tremble with...a feeling he could not name, even reluctantly. It was light and fragile and enormously powerful—and Logan wasn't totally sure if it was good or bad.</p><p> </p><p>“Did...did we share dreams...before?” he asked hesitantly.</p><p> </p><p>Roman smiled, sad, tremulous, and hesitant in his own right.</p><p> </p><p>“It's...a complicated thing to explain.” he confessed. “I don't have all the answers.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do you have any?”</p><p> </p><p>“I do. If you want them.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why would I not want them?” Logan asked.</p><p> </p><p>Something slid through Roman's eyes, dimming their light, and it ripped through Logan with a fury that had no root, no real cause.</p><p> </p><p>Only that something dared to darken his demeanor, and with terrifying clarity Logan knew he would even destroy himself were he to discover that he was the cause of it.</p><p> </p><p>“Because I'm a royal?” he pointed out. “Because my family did this to your people...because <em>I </em>did this to <em>you?</em>”</p><p> </p><p>“Falsehood.”</p><p> </p><p>Roman smiled, and Logan felt suddenly powerful. He felt...he <em>felt, </em>with no anchor for any of these feelings. It was deeply disconcerting—and it was also intoxicating.</p><p> </p><p>“Hearing that again is almost as comforting as hearing you call me an idiot.” Roman laughed, squeezing his hand. “I missed it.”</p><p> </p><p>Logan felt dizzy with the gaping hole in his chest, the warmth of Roman's touch—the world, every breath, every second that ticked by, it all suddenly felt like <em>too much </em>to hold inside of him. If he could remember, maybe he could bear it, maybe he could handle the things that his fingers and his heart seemed to know as he clung to the king's hand and stood on the edge of a chasm of years that stretched between them with no memory of how it got there.</p><p> </p><p>“I do not remember,” he managed to choke out, “but...I think I did, too.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, Starlight...”</p><p> </p><p>Roman pulled him forward, and suddenly Logan was being held, cradled against acres of bare flesh and solid muscle. His lungs were filled with the scent of warm cotton and sweet skin, tinged with something that reminded him of fresh earth and damp stone—not the rank stone of the dungeons, but granite and petrichor, fresh from a gentle, cleansing rain.</p><p> </p><p>Logan could not have stopped himself from clinging as Roman held him, not even if he wanted to—and he didn't want to stop.</p><p> </p><p>“Tell me?” A question, whispered against his shoulder as he was held in strong arms and drowned in the warmth of safety and affection.</p><p> </p><p>Roman did not hesitate to open his mouth and start talking—and he <em>kept </em>talking until there was nothing left.</p><p> </p><p>Until Logan finally knew everything.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>**********<br/><br/>1022, A.A.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, wait, so—familiars are <em>human?”</em></p><p> </p><p>Logan laughed—one of the greatest sounds in the world, as far as Roman was concerned. It was rare as diamonds, soft as a whisper, and always so filled with bright, gleaming emotion that it made him happy even if he was having the worst possible day.</p><p> </p><p>Roman lived for his laugh—among other things. Logan's eyes, Logan's intelligence...Father called it that 'special age,' told him that <em>he'd </em>started noticing how certain boys made him feel when he was thirteen, but this wasn't just...</p><p> </p><p>Logan was younger than him by two whole years—it might as well be <em>decades. </em>Besides, Logan probably liked girls, and oh yeah, <em>he was a Weaver. </em>Being one of the Necromata was one thing, but Weavers were revered among his people. Even if <em>liking </em>a necromancer wasn't a crime, Logan's family wouldn't want him to have anything to do with an outsider like Roman. He'd learned that much in two years of friendship with him.</p><p> </p><p>Two years of hiding how he really spent his afternoons away from the tutors. Two years of learning the truth about how good and kind and <em>generous </em>the Necromata were...how good and kind and generous <em>Logan </em>was.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, familiars are human.” Logan replied, sweeping the flat stone marker of the grave they were tending. “Virgil—my little brother, the one I call Stormcloud—is my Spider, the keeper of the Loom of Memory.”</p><p> </p><p>Roman risked peeking out from under the hood of the cloak hiding his face to follow the tilt of Logan's head to the eight year old boy on the other side of the open field. He was small and slight, with a shock of black hair like Logan's, save that his gleamed blue-black in the sun where Logan's shone with the most subtle red-brown hints of dark cherry wood. When he faced them, beaming up at the massive redhead that Logan had identified as their grandfather, Roman could see that Virgil's eyes were dark compared to Logan's startling blue.</p><p> </p><p>Over the last couple of years, Logan had gradually shared the True Names of his whole family with Roman. Outlaw was his grandfather, Josiah. Rainbow was his <em>pari, </em>Talyn. Joan was his <em>geni, </em>Elliot. He'd trusted Roman with that knowledge...but Virgil, his little brother, the person Logan loved more than life itself (and possibly more than jam tarts), he'd protected.</p><p> </p><p>Until now. Now, he'd let Roman in all the way—in more ways than one, given where they were.</p><p> </p><p>While Logan finished sweeping the headstone clean, Roman watched the countless other families among Logan's tribe attending similar areas just like they were. Some were cleaning other graves, others were scouring the ground for signs of unmarked ones, others still were tending the trees in the open field that needed pruning or fertilization to grow healthy and strong over the graves they stood as markers for.</p><p> </p><p>The Festival of the Forgotten that came every autumn was a day Roman had only ever known as one of solemn remembrance for those who had fallen to the Animator's slaughter a thousand years ago. He got dressed up in his formal attire, stood by Father's side while he gave speeches at the palace memorial, and basically spent the day being as quiet and unobtrusive as possible.</p><p> </p><p>Logan had treated the whole thing with open disdain and offense when Roman explained it to him—then told him what the <em>real </em>Festival was all about.</p><p> </p><p>The Festival wasn't happening for a week yet, but the Necromata were already preparing. For Logan's people, it was a week long celebration of the dead that involved hard work and loving attention. The field they were in had once been a graveyard in the time before the Animator, and many of the dead who lay in repose below the earth had been lost to time. Some had no names to be remembered, others had no lineage to go after them, still more were buried carelessly without even a marker to their name.</p><p> </p><p>The Necromata took custody of these dead, trying to give them remembrance even if they couldn't give them names. All week, they carefully cleaned the field up, tended what few graves they could identify, looked for others—and at the end, had a giant party full of food, music, and drink. They decorated graves, left offerings for the departed, and kept the forgotten souls company with laughter and song. They would soak the earth and the air with enough joy and celebration to ensure that these lost ones would have comfort enough to take them through the year, when they would do it all over again.</p><p> </p><p>Roman had been humbled by the true story of the Festival—and so Logan had invited him to attend. Both the party, <em>and </em>the stewardship of the dead.</p><p> </p><p>“Familiars enhance the power of their necromancer in different ways.” Logan continued once Roman had given him his attention again. “A Black Dog has their Wolf, who acts as their spirit guide through their visions. A Reaper has their Raven, who helps them take the pain away from those they heal or release—and a Weaver has their Spider, who spins the fibers for the Loom of Memory. When a Weaver reaches the Loom, it's very much like the real thing: a visual representation, where a soul to be resurrected is mounted like a half finished tapestry, and the Weaver completes it with the connection he has to his Spider.”</p><p> </p><p>“What does the fiber represent?” Roman asked as Logan stepped back, dropping his broom and moving to crouch before the worn headstone while Roman quickly followed suit. “The fiber your Spider spins?”</p><p> </p><p>“Focus. Virgil gives me his focus to aid me in retrieving the memories I need to restore the soul to life. With his mind working in tandem with mine, it's like I'm weaving with a shuttle wound in spider silk, and it allows me to finish my work much more quickly. It ensures the tapestry lasts longer once it's taken off the loom before it unravels...before the soul I raise to life slips away again.”</p><p> </p><p>Roman didn't like the way Logan's features fell a little at that. Ever since his Warping, Roman knew that Logan was troubled by the idea that there were people he couldn't fully resurrect—those not meant to die, he could save, but those whose soul had slipped through the opening in the Barrier carved for them at the moment of their death? Those were temporary—and the few times he'd half restored a soul like that as part of his training lingered with him.</p><p><br/>Knowing he could say nothing to comfort him, instead Roman turned his attention to the smooth granite surface before them.</p><p> </p><p>“You said this grave was new, right?”</p><p> </p><p>Logan nodded, shifting to kneel while Roman remained in his crouch—and with hardly a care, rested an arm on Roman's knee so he could lean forward and peer at the gravestone. The touch made Roman's heart flip in his chest, but he tried to focus on the task at hand.</p><p> </p><p>“Grandpap discovered it last year while they were digging out the roots of a dead tree. We replanted it over there to better mark the site because the stone's been worn so flat.”</p><p> </p><p>Roman frowned, reaching down to run his fingers over the stone. “This poor person will never have a name now.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sadly, no.” Logan agreed, reaching down to lay his hand against Roman's atop the stone. “Whatever epitaph was on this stone was worn away hundreds of years ago—“</p><p> </p><p>“What's that?”</p><p> </p><p>Roman, reluctantly, slid his hand out from under Logan's to run his fingers along the base of the stone.</p><p> </p><p>“See this ridge? There's something beneath it...here, help me...”</p><p> </p><p>The earth was damp, and for a moment Roman was left to dig on his own, fingers sinking into the loamy earth at the base of the stone. In truth, it was fun—feeling the grit under his fingernails, the ache of muscles as he clawed at the dirt.</p><p> </p><p>Only when he started to uncover a broader base on the stone did Logan move to start helping him dig.</p><p> </p><p>After about five minutes, they had exposed a second, broader slab beneath the stone. This one, heavily covered by dirt, seemed to be part of a larger piece that appeared to just...keep going.</p><p> </p><p>“This isn't a headstone.” Logan realized. “It's a burial vault.”</p><p> </p><p>Roman nodded. “I actually know what those are—big boxes for dead bodies, right? So they don't rot in the dirt. For the coffin to sit in!”</p><p> </p><p>“Correct.” Logan murmured. “What's more, it's not buried all that deep. Perhaps, once upon a time, it wasn't buried at all.”</p><p> </p><p>Roman thought about the last burial vault he'd seen—that of an adviser in his father's court council. He hadn't been buried in the royal mausoleum, being of common birth, but he'd been given a special place in the surrounding cemetery: an above ground burial vault, bearing the royal seal and just beneath it...</p><p> </p><p>“This isn't a headstone.” he realized aloud, furiously going back to digging.</p><p><br/>“That's what you said—”</p><p><br/>“No, I mean <em>this </em>part! The crest of the royal family sits here, not the epitaph! We have burial vaults like these in the palace cemetery, and the name is always <em>under</em> this piece! Help me, Logan—<em>we can find out who this is!”</em></p><p> </p><p>Glancing to the side, he was pleased to see Logan adjusting his glasses, a restless sign of pleasure as he crowded closer to Roman's side.</p><p> </p><p>“If the name was not exposed to the elements before it was buried, it might still be preserved.” he agreed.</p><p> </p><p>“So we can help them?”</p><p> </p><p>Logan nodded eagerly, making Roman grin. He was so <em>happy, </em>and it warmed Roman's heart—but so did the fact that they might actually be able to give some poor, forgotten dead necromancer back their name. The fact that Roman, himself, was helping to do this thing for one of the Necromata, an heir to the throne helping these good and caring and generous people that just wanted to make sure that the dead were <em>remembered...</em></p><p> </p><p>It gave him so much hope for the future. <em>Logan </em>gave him this hope by letting him in.</p><p> </p><p>That was the moment Roman <em>knew...</em></p><p> </p><p>Refocusing on their new task, Roman began to dig in earnest. Logan shifted to reach for the broom, trying to scrape away the earth from the stone vault with the end of its handle. Gradually, they worked down a couple of inches until the edges of a very clear engraving became visible. First the frame, then what looked like...</p><p> </p><p>“Numbers. These may be the dates of birth and death, if this person died Before Animator.” Logan murmured, jostling Roman in encouragement. “Keep going.”</p><p> </p><p>Voices buzzed around them. The cool autumn air stung Roman's nose. His fingers were sore, cuticles caked with dirt. Logan was pressed securely to his side, digging tirelessly alongside him.</p><p> </p><p>Time stopped. Nothing existed but the two of them, crowded close and digging, all heavy breath and exertion and movement, bumping and jostling in a strange rhythm that blurred the line between where one ended and the other began...</p><p> </p><p>“...Roman.”</p><p> </p><p>Roman blinked, shaking his head. He glanced at Logan, who'd gone ashen as he stared down at the inches of earth they had uncovered.</p><p> </p><p>With a start, he realized they had finished. There, in worn but very clear lettering, was the epitaph of a forgotten corpse. Beneath the confusing dates of birth and death, there was a name.</p><p> </p><p>Reading it, Roman could feel the blood leaving his face just as it had left Logan's.</p><p> </p><p>“This...cannot be right.” Logan murmured.</p><p> </p><p>“No, it can't.” Roman agreed softly, flopping artlessly back on his behind. Logan collapsed with him, half across Roman's lap, with Roman too stunned to fully take it in. “You said this was a burial ground for the Necromata.”</p><p> </p><p>“It is.”</p><p> </p><p>Roman met Logan's gaze, something sick and panicky forming a lump of ice in his throat.</p><p> </p><p>“Then why, in the Seven Hells, is one of my ancestors buried here?”</p><p> </p><p>**********</p><p>
  <br/>
  <em>1033, A.A.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Few things in the world scared Remus—but that scrawny little necromancer fucking terrified him. The cadet wasn't much better, mostly because they were brothers.</p><p> </p><p>Remus was smart. It was a problem, had been his whole life. For all that he knew, easily and quickly, there were few things he really <em>understood, </em>important things like personal boundaries and courtesy and the difference between things that were fascinating and things that were disturbing.</p><p> </p><p>Brothers, however, he understood. Which was why the cadet was so fucking scary: look at either one of them wrong, and the other would take your fucking head off to defend them.</p><p> </p><p>So Remus stayed in the shadows, watching the pipsqueak stomp around outside Roman's suite like he <em>wanted </em>to get caught by some other member of the palace guard, cursing just loud enough to be heard but not understood, vibrating with tension and so furious the air seemed to ripple around him with heat waves rising from his skin.</p><p> </p><p>“Why is your brother alone with mine?”</p><p> </p><p>Scary as the situation was, Remus found some deeply satisfying pleasure in watching Virgil Storm leap about six feet into the air with fright, choking on the scream he fought to stifle.</p><p> </p><p>“Shadow's <em>Balls, </em>you miserable son of a bitch, what the hell are you trying to do? Give me a heart attack?” he spat, clutching his chest with both hands.</p><p> </p><p>Remus shrugged. “Hey, not my fault if you don't have the nerves for guard duty, toy soldier. Should've tried hiding in the kitchens instead. The wash boys bring the dungeon prisoners their daily meal.”</p><p> </p><p>“I'm not guarding anything.” Virgil shot back, turning to glare at the closed door of Roman's suite. “I was sent away. By my own damn brother—doesn't remember shit, and he's still treating me like a little kid.”</p><p> </p><p>“He's your big brother—that shit doesn't change with age.” Remus huffed. “Ro Ro's got a half life on me, and he makes use of ever second of it.”</p><p> </p><p>Virgil looked at him strangely. “A half life? I thought you were twins.”</p><p> </p><p>Remus shrugged. “Nothing gets past you, does it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Can you speak in anything but sarcasm?”</p><p> </p><p>“Can you address the crown prince with a little respect?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not when I've seen the kind of people you sneak around with. Cadets pull a lot of graveyard shifts.”</p><p> </p><p>Damn—the game of questions was just starting to get fun. The toy soldier wasn't just cute, he was feisty and totally lacked any fear of the throne. That was a problem, because Remus was actually starting to like the little shit.</p><p> </p><p>“You're lucky I'm into that.” Remus quipped, but finally rolled his eyes and leaned back against the opposite wall of the corridor. “Fine: we're half-twins: identical, born one hour apart on the cusp. Roman came at eleven and I came at midnight. We celebrate our birthdays on the same day to hide that fact.”</p><p> </p><p>Virgil went eerily still—and Remus's estimation of the kid went up a couple notches because of it.</p><p> </p><p>“You <em>do </em>remember I'm Necromata, right?” he asked slowly. “Everyone in this castle knows you and your brother are both well versed in the ways of necromancy. You know what we can do with half-twins.”</p><p> </p><p>Remus sobered, wondering for one irrational second if he'd been wrong. Wrong about the scrawny necromancer, wrong about the toy soldier, wrong about the limited amount of sense Roman had in his thick skull...</p><p> </p><p>“Does anyone else know?” Virgil asked in the silence of Remus's brain spinning away from him.</p><p> </p><p>Remus shook his head. “No, and I intend to keep it that way.”</p><p> </p><p>“...you gonna kill me, Highness?”</p><p> </p><p>Remus rushed him then, pinning Virgil to the wall with a hand wrapped around his throat.</p><p> </p><p>“Only if I have to.” he warned quietly. He could hear his own heart beating in his ears, but it was slow, steady, far too calm. He could already imagine those gleaming dark eyes going flat and dead, that lovely pale skin going ashen as he choked the life from him, hear the bubble from his lungs as they gave up their last breath...</p><p> </p><p>He'd do it. He'd sleep easy. He wouldn't regret a thing.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Not for Roman. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“I'm a little brother, too.” Virgil reminded him quietly, breathlessly—and for one split second, as Virgil reached up to wrap his hand around Remus's wrist, gentle but firm, he was kind of breathtaking. His pulse was jumping in his throat, every exhale was shaky and his lips were parted as he sucked down oxygen...</p><p> </p><p>Remus let him go, but he didn't move away. He couldn't quite make himself, not when he suddenly felt like swallowing the terrified little spider whole.</p><p> </p><p>“No one can know what Roman really is.” he whispered. “No one.”</p><p> </p><p>“Make you a deal,” Virgil shot back, “you protect my big brother, and I'll protect yours.”</p><p> </p><p>Remus narrowed his eyes...but it was what he wanted, after all, so he offered Virgil his hand to shake.</p><p> </p><p>“Mutually assured destruction it is.” Remus agreed. “Can't trust a royal and all.”</p><p> </p><p>Virgil had just wrapped his hand around Remus's when he blinked, startled. “I...yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>Laughing, Remus shook his hand firmly, and let the world fall away for just a moment. His grip made it easy: firm, warm, <em>strong. </em></p><p> </p><p>“You're right about us, toy soldier: Roman and I? We're both pretty into necromancy. That means we know more than most about the royal family—at least I do. Roman...I'm not quite sure what he remembers anymore.”</p><p> </p><p>“About what?” Virgil asked.</p><p> </p><p>Remus released Virgil's hand, then sighed and shifted to press his back against the wall, sliding down to sit on the ground.</p><p> </p><p>“Park it, Storm. There's a few things you need to know about my brother...and yours.”</p><p> </p><p>**********</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>1022, A.A.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“It has to be a mistake.”</p><p> </p><p>“It's not.” Logan insisted, reaching up to tug at his mask—he would have adjusted his glasses if he'd been wearing them, but he couldn't with the domino that covered his features, heavily adored with thick black feathers. Roman reached up to stop him before he could remove it.</p><p> </p><p>“Can't be rude to the dead, can we?” Roman chided gently.</p><p> </p><p>That got a smile out of Logan, despite the circumstances—almost as good as his laughter, and once again the spirit of the evening swept over him.</p><p> </p><p>Five days had passed since the discovery in the graveyard. Earlier in the day, this day, he'd done his duty: donned his formal dress, stood beside his father, pretended to be solemn and respectful while, all the while, he'd been vibrating with excitement for <em>this.</em></p><p> </p><p>The final day of the Festival—the final <em>night.</em></p><p> </p><p>The <em>real </em>Festival, an <em>actual </em>festival with music and food and costumes. The Field of the Forgotten was now clean and well cared for, lit up with torches and free floating luminaries. There were tables laden with food and drink and plates and cups—large for the living, smaller ones for graveside offerings. It was a celebration of life lost, a gift to the dead.</p><p> </p><p>And the costumes—they were so much fun, and yet even these carried meaning. Roman hid his face behind a domino adorned with white feathers to Logan's black, and rejected his name to call himself Muse for the evening. Because these souls they honored no longer had names or faces, forever lost to time, the living hid their own with masks and costumes, gave up their true names and identities for the night out of respect.</p><p> </p><p>It was magical, all of it. He enjoyed himself, drinking sparkling cider and eating meat skewers, burning his mouth on sweet-searing phoenix taffy, wrapped in wax paper printed with tiny black skulls. He even pocketed some for later, vowing to enjoy them slowly and remember the forgotten as he let the cinnamon tingle sting his tongue.</p><p> </p><p>He celebrated instead of mourning, gave his own joy to the forgotten dead for a year, and for the first time dreamed of being king one day instead of crown prince so he could <em>show </em>this to the citizens. After all, they would understand if they knew—how much the Necromata cared about the dead, how <em>hard </em>they worked for those who were gone because it made things so much better for the people that were still <em>here. </em></p><p> </p><p>They weren't messengers of death, they were guardians of <em>life, </em>and one day Roman would set them free. He'd show everyone...he'd watch Logan stand beside him before the whole kingdom and smile when he realized that he was no longer feared, but loved. Just as he deserved to be.</p><p> </p><p>Smile like he was smiling now. At <em>Roman, </em>because he stopped him from removing his mask, and for one really stupid second, Roman almost hoped Logan would...maybe reach for his hand or press against his side like he had earlier in the week, huddled before the final resting place of Thomas Roman I.</p><p> </p><p>Roman's namesake. Roman's <em>ancestor. </em></p><p> </p><p>“Can we be sure?” Roman asked, the brief euphoria stolen from him as they walked side by side, trying to be discreet about returning to the grave in question. “I mean...what's the likelihood that a necromancer would name their child after a king? It's done, you know.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not among our people.” Logan insisted with a shake of his head. “The royal family are our oppressors, have been for generations. As much as it pains me to say it, my people view the royal bloodline much as the population at large view necromancers. They are cutthroat, bloodthirsty, power hungry demons that will stop at nothing to see every single one of us destroyed. No parent would ever do that to a child.”</p><p> </p><p>Roman felt a little like he'd been punched in the gut, but he said nothing. Logan wasn't great with feelings—better, a little, since his Warping, but it always made him squirmy to try and confront them, in himself or in anyone else.</p><p> </p><p>“I want to change that.” Roman replied quietly, vowing he'd say no more on it.</p><p> </p><p>“Falsehood.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“Falsehood.” Logan repeated, as if he hadn't just called Roman a liar. For a second, Roman wondered if he'd done or said something that...oh, gods, did Logan know how Roman felt? Was it bothering him <em>that </em>badly? Were they—</p><p> </p><p>“You <em>will </em>change that.” Logan pressed on before Roman's thoughts could spiral any further. “This is simple fact.”</p><p> </p><p>“Lo—er, Starlight, I appreciate that you have so much faith in me—“</p><p> </p><p>“It's not <em>faith, </em>Muse. It's <em>fact.</em>” Logan insisted, stopping in his tracks. “This revelation is confusing, life changing...<em>dangerous </em>for what it could represent, but the facts are thus: your ancestor is buried on sacred Necromata ground. For generations beyond the Animator, we have taken great pains to ensure that no outsider has ever been interred among us for the simple reason that necromancers cannot be resurrected because we have no souls—it would be sacrilege to allow a resurrection to disturb the rest of our dead. This can mean only one thing: the royal family is either of our tribe, or of <em>theirs.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>“Whose?”</p><p> </p><p>“The Lazari.”</p><p> </p><p>Roman's stomach dropped clear through his shoes and into the sacred ground of the Necromata. “Seven <em>Hells, </em>do you think that's truly possible? W-w-what about the Animata?”</p><p> </p><p>Logan shook his head, then turned to keep walking. They were nearly at the grave—the pair of them had hastily covered up the name they had unearthed, pressing the dirt flat and scattering some leaves to make it look like nothing had been disturbed.</p><p> </p><p>“The Animata are not necromancers—not all of them were even fully human, given their twin souls. It would be easy to resurrect one of them. No, the only other creature it could possibly be is a Lazari.”</p><p> </p><p>“But they're a myth—they're not even real.”</p><p> </p><p>“Myth to you, theoretical to us.” Logan replied as they reached the grave. Sitting in front of the tombstone, he beckoned Roman to join him. “The Lazari are, essentially, an evolution of Weavers. They cannot merely recall the dead to life, they can change the fate of the dead. Their power is such that they can weave a soul not from memory, but from the Spider's Thread. They can change fate.”</p><p> </p><p>Roman fell silent, staring down at the careworn tombstone before them. Reaching out, he ran his hands over the smooth stone that once likely bore a royal crest—the crest of his family, above the name of his ancestor.</p><p> </p><p>“How can you change fate?” he asked softly, forcing himself not to look at the boy beside him. Not when he felt so...weird. So full, like his lungs were being crushed against the inside of his ribcage by his heart and his soul, and <em>everything </em>he was feeling.</p><p> </p><p>He wanted to not be of the house of Sanders. He wanted Logan to not be of the Necromata. He wanted to live in a world where nothing separated them, where one day he could court Logan as proudly as his own father had courted his dad, as proudly as his dad had courted his mother...</p><p><br/>Roman wanted, wanted, <em>wanted </em>in that moment, and he was afraid to look at Logan...suddenly afraid of what would happen if he did.</p><p> </p><p>“Knowledge.”</p><p><br/>Logan's quiet utterance nearly stole his resolve, his head twitching, but remaining down as Logan continued.</p><p> </p><p>“Knowledge is how. It is an incomparably valuable, multi-purpose tool that is instrumental in identifying and solving any problem.”</p><p> </p><p>He paused—then Roman felt his hand on his shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Don't don't don't don't don't...</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Roman looked up, and found Logan meeting his gaze with a look that briefly stole his breath.</p><p> </p><p>“If you're worried about getting hurt? Then seek knowledge. It is our greatest weapon...and our greatest defense.”</p><p> </p><p>The words felt oddly weighty, like he was trying to make Roman remember something for later. That, or...</p><p> </p><p>He couldn't give the feeling words, and so he didn't. He held it inside himself, embraced the crushing weight against his lungs and the way his entire body felt too small for his bones.</p><p> </p><p>“And the Lazari would be a pretty powerful weapon—especially if they were members of the royal family.” Roman mused softly.</p><p> </p><p>A necromancer on the throne—if it was true, it could destroy his family. However...</p><p> </p><p>It could save Logan's people. If the world knew that one of the royal family had been a member of his tribe? Maybe the Necromata could finally be free to live in the open, free and unafraid.</p><p> </p><p>Looking into Logan's face, Roman realized there was no decision to make.</p><p> </p><p>“Where will we find it?” he asked finally. “This knowledge...the knowledge we need to prove it, one way or the other?”</p><p> </p><p>Logan fell silent at that. He still had that strangely intense look in his eyes, high color in his cheeks—and at some point, his hand had found its way off Roman's shoulder and down to mesh with Roman's fingers.</p><p><br/>Roman's face felt warm, and the world felt kind of spinny.</p><p> </p><p>“We start with the king.”</p><p> </p><p>**********</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>1033, A.A.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“What're you thinkin' about, Janny?”</p><p> </p><p>Janus drew a deep breath—not quite a sigh, but very close to it, not over Patton's question but his own inability to function properly.</p><p> </p><p>He <em>should </em>be looking over the shoulders of his lieutenants, currently investigating the king's death. What he <em>was </em>doing was walking through the North Gardens in the dark with Patton, their hands firmly linked together between them. Patton even went so far as to swing them occasionally, making something deep in Janus's core <em>twist </em>in a manner that made his baser impulses nearly impossible to control.</p><p> </p><p>“Nothing I can discuss with you.” he replied.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, wow. You're telling the truth—it <em>must </em>be bad.” Patton breathed.</p><p> </p><p>Janus squeezed Patton's fingers, uncertain if he was trying to reassure Patton or himself.</p><p> </p><p>“You have no idea,” he admitted softly, “and if I get my way? You never will.”</p><p> </p><p>There was no immediate answer as Janus scanned their surroundings, double and triple checking to make sure they weren't being spied on. He was well aware of the fact that Logan had already absconded with the cadet—his brother, now <em>that </em>was never going to stop being funny to Janus—and could give a damn. He knew Logan well enough to know he'd be careful...he had to admit, reluctantly, that Storm was a damn capable soldier...and by holding up the pretext that the prisoners were safely ensconced in their quarters...</p><p> </p><p>He could steal this time with Patton. Stealing, sneaking, <em>taking </em>things he had no right to, things that didn't belong to him.</p><p> </p><p>“You're gonna ask me things again, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>Janus stopped dead in his tracks, looking at Patton sharply. Patton, the gods love him, was just smiling that smile he always had when he told Janus things that Janus <em>didn't </em>ask for, much less the things Janus did make a point of requesting.</p><p> </p><p>“That's not why we're out here.” he replied instead of rebuffing Patton's assertion. It felt more important, even if it wasn't...</p><p> </p><p>It <em>wasn't.</em></p><p> </p><p>Patton giggled—actually giggled at that—and wrapped Janus's hand in both of his.</p><p> </p><p>“Janny, <em>I </em>asked <em>you </em>to spend some time with me, remember?”</p><p> </p><p>How could Janus forget that desperate plea, wide eyed and beaming through the tear tracks that lingered on his cheeks after he was done crying in Janus's arms earlier, done warning Janus about what was happening to Logan in another part of the castle? How could Janus have ever said no?</p><p> </p><p>How could Janus admit that, even if Patton hadn't asked, Janus would have come anyway—just because he couldn't stay away?</p><p> </p><p>“You couldn't possibly know I wanted to...ask you things, as you put it.” Janus pointed out.</p><p> </p><p>Patton stepped closer, looking up into Janus's face from his diminutive height. The moon was nearly gone, but its few stray rays caught his mop of curls, forcing Janus to ball his hands into fists to resist the urge to touch one.</p><p> </p><p>But, of course, because Patton still held one of his hands, he only succeeded in holding on tighter, sending a ripple of warmth and softness through Janus that ought to be more troubling than it was.</p><p> </p><p>“I always know.” Patton pointed out gently. His dark blue eyes were black in the low light, his face shining and open and so dazzling it made his very bones hurt with the primal dragon's urge to grab him and hide him and <em>claim claim claim mine mine mine...</em></p><p> </p><p>Patton sank to the ground, tugging gently on Janus's captive hand. Janus followed—but rather than sit on the ground as Janus did, Patton got to his knees and immediately deposited himself in Janus's lap with a merry giggle that Janus swore lit up the garden if only for a heartbeat.</p><p> </p><p>Janus let go Patton's hand, wrapped his arms around his waist instead, and felt the dragon in his bones settle back to sleep.</p><p> </p><p>“You always know.” he finally echoed with a sigh and narrowed eyes that did nothing to taint Patton's bright smile. “Fine, I want to ask you things.”</p><p> </p><p>Visibly pleased with himself, Patton rested his hands on Janus's shoulders, shut his eyes, and took a slow, deep breath.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay. I'm ready.”</p><p> </p><p>Janus gave Patton a gentle squeeze, taking a deep breath of his own.</p><p> </p><p>“I need to know how to kill the necromancer.”</p><p> </p><p>Patton didn't move or speak for a long time. Janus just held on, waiting.</p><p> </p><p>His eyes slammed open—solid, pale sky blue and glowing faintly in the dark instead of the impossibly dark shade Janus knew so well.</p><p> </p><p>In hushed, faraway tones, Patton spoke...and Janus listened closely.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Logan tries to find another memory, and comes back with something bigger. Virgil opens up to Remus. More facts about the night of Logan's arrest come to light.</p><p>And Janus is definitely out to kill the necromancer--but Roman learns something unexpected when he discovers this plan.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>...so I felt bad about the cliffhanger. &gt;.&gt; XD</p><p>Also, I forgot to mention in the last chapter that the words 'pari' and 'geni' were gender neutral terms I created for this world for Logan's parents. They're twisted up with Latin roots for 'parent' or 'creator' because his folks are nonbinary.</p><p>Extra apologies for this one because no beta and I just got eager and wrote this in one day. Send help. XD</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>1033, A.A.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The first thing Logan noticed when he woke was the heat. Even with all the little luxuries he earned as a well behaved prisoner, he <em>never </em>woke up warm.</p><p> </p><p>The memories were slow to trickle back to him through the haze of sleep, gentle rain splashing against the surface of his mind.</p><p> </p><p>The assassination. The Green Man. The new quarters, his first private shower in ten years—soft spun cotton lounge clothes instead of the rough, drab, ill fitting uniform of the dungeon's prisoners.</p><p> </p><p>Gentle fingers filled with strength laced securely through his. Strong arms, warm skin...</p><p> </p><p>Logan opened his eyes, and found himself with his face tucked against the curve of a neck. Lifting his head with great reluctance, he found himself faced with a sleeping Roman.</p><p> </p><p>The beauty of it nearly stopped his heart.</p><p> </p><p>Loss had stripped some light from his features, worn them around the edges and haunted his eyes, but in repose his features were smooth and unburdened. He looked younger, surreal in his serene perfection. Something about the act of watching Roman sleep felt important...precious, even familiar...</p><p> </p><p>Roman stirred then, and Logan acted without thinking, reaching out to smooth his fingers through Roman's hair. It was soft against his fingers, warm and silken and he repeated the gesture just for the pleasure of feeling it.</p><p> </p><p>“...'lo?...”</p><p> </p><p>“Hello, Roman.”</p><p> </p><p>Roman hummed, and the arm Logan only just realized was wrapped around his shoulders tightened, pulling him closer against Roman's side.</p><p> </p><p>“Lo.” he murmured, more confidently this time as he opened bright green eyes. “You're here.”</p><p> </p><p>“It appears I fell asleep after our discussion. Apologies.” Logan replied, but could put no real conviction into the words. Something inside him...<em>ached </em>in a beautiful way he couldn't give words to. He didn't know what it meant...</p><p> </p><p>For just a split second, his vision blurred, and Roman was younger, smaller, dark hair lightened by too much time in the sun...</p><p> </p><p><em>...</em>Logan's mind grew fuzzy again, but not with sleep. He recognized the feeling now, the haze of magic that let him reconnect to Virgil, to a fragment of his past...</p><p> </p><p><em>The Loom of Memory. </em>Roman spoke about it last night, telling his stories about them as friends—as kindred spirits.</p><p> </p><p>“Logan?...”</p><p> </p><p>Logan shifted to lay on his back, reaching for Roman's hand.</p><p> </p><p>“Virgil restored one of my memories through a piece of personal magic I embedded in an object of power.” he explained, speech slurring just a little as his eyes grew heavier. “If...you took part in a ritual to give me...my power...”</p><p> </p><p>“The Warping.” Roman murmured, rolling on his side. Gripping Logan's fingers tight, he looked down into Logan's face. Something about it tugged at the back of Logan's chest, something that was pulling him back into darkness again.</p><p> </p><p>He could fight the pull. He did not try.</p><p> </p><p>Gripping Roman's hand tight, Logan let his eyes shut.</p><p><br/>“Hold on...do not let go.”</p><p> </p><p>As he sank, Logan distantly felt warm lips brush his forehead.</p><p> </p><p>“I never have. I never will.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>**********<br/><br/>...threads. Everywhere, itching, brushing, bothersome. This time, he pulled away from them, just a little. He flexed his fingers, and the shuttle was there, secure in his grip.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>He tried to concentrate on seeing it this time. Pulling back, stepping away.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>…<em>there.</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>The loom was massive, the warp glowing softly with a gentle radiance that begged to be touched. Running his fingers over it, Logan sighed with pleasure—warm and whisper soft beneath his fingers, spreading through his hand and up his arm to settle in the core of his being....but loose.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>The warp was too loose. Just a little tension was needed for a neat, tight weave.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Logan reached out to try and tighten the warp, but...something was wrong.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“<em>...Logan?”</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> <b>Who's there?</b> </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Logan, it's me.”</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> <b>...oh. I...</b> </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Do you need help?”</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> <b>I—I think so. I don't understand what's happening.</b> </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“<em>It's okay—to be honest, I didn't understand then and I still don't. Just take what you need.”</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> <b>I'll be careful this time.</b> </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Don't worry about it. Just...don't leave me.”</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> <b>I promise. In fact...will you stay?</b> </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Stay? I...is that all right?”</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> <b>I do not know—but there's only one way to find out. Help me, if you can.</b> </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>He tugged gently at the thread—this time, it came smooth and easy. It was hard to do still—simply because it was so distracting, the ecstasy of handling it, letting the warp slide through his fingers and tug sweetly as he secured it to the loom—</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>When he was done, when it was ready...Logan set to work.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>**********<br/><br/><em>1023, A.A.</em></p><p> </p><p>Logan was so warm and so comfortable, he never wanted to wake up...but he knew he had to, for some reason.</p><p> </p><p>Opening his eyes with a yawn, he turned his head—then grinned when he realized that Roman stayed.</p><p> </p><p>There was something about seeing him in Logan's bedroom that felt secret and special: Roman, <em>his </em>Roman, with his face half buried in Logan's pillow and mouth slightly open as he slept. It wasn't a pretty sight: he drooled just a little, and he was <em>laying </em>on Logan, one arm and one leg thrown across his body, something he usually hated...</p><p> </p><p>But Logan could <em>feel </em>his weight, his warmth. He was messy and heavy and too much...and he was tucked into Logan's bed, his fingers meshed tight through Logan's to rest on Logan's chest. This handsome prince, this good and loving and dangerously earnest boy that <em>wanted </em>with a ferocity that scared and dazzled Logan, eluded palace guard and the king himself just to help him. Just to <em>stay.</em></p><p> </p><p>Roman was everything good and just and <em>right </em>in the world. However, Roman was also two years older than him, he was royalty—and Logan was Necromata.</p><p> </p><p>Secret and special was all Logan was ever going to get.</p><p> </p><p>Staring into Roman's sleeping face for a few more precious seconds, he tucked the memory away somewhere safe in his mind and his heart before he gently squeezed Roman's hand.</p><p> </p><p>“Roman?”</p><p> </p><p>“Nnnnngh.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Roman. </em>It's morning.”</p><p> </p><p>“Nnnngh—guh? What?”</p><p> </p><p>Roman came awake abruptly, and Logan's heart trembled at the muzzy confusion in his face. It made him want confusing, unattainable things, so Logan settled for smiling.</p><p> </p><p>“It's morning. Sunrise—are you still okay?”</p><p> </p><p>Roman nodded with a jaw cracking yawn, further upsetting Logan's already fragile, confusing state of mind by tucking himself forward until their foreheads touched. “Yeah, 'm fine. Remus'll cover for me 'till at least after breakfast. You?”</p><p> </p><p>Unable to stop himself, Logan tucked their joined hands against his chest for a second, sealing the feel of it as deep as he could into his memory as he nodded. “Grandpap won't be back until tomorrow, and Pari lets me skip my morning chores if I'm studying.”</p><p> </p><p>“Which you are, technically.” Roman pointed out with a smile, staring into Logan's eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Falsehood. I'm laying about in bed.”</p><p> </p><p>Roman seemingly had no answer for that, and didn't respond—but also didn't move.</p><p> </p><p>Logan couldn't bring himself to urge him into action.</p><p> </p><p>“Where did we leave off last night?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p> </p><p>“The geneaology. How far did we get?” Roman pressed gently, a laugh in his voice that made Logan's heart tremble again.</p><p> </p><p>Taking a deep breath, Logan managed to pry himself from the sanctuary of his spot tucked into the curve of Roman's body. Sitting up, he reached for the last book they'd been reading through before they gave up their research for sleep.</p><p> </p><p>“We got as far back as King Thomas Cameron IV—the one who married the first Lord and Lady Stewards.” Logan explained, flipping to the right page. “They reorganized the line of succession for same sex and polyfidelitous families within the royal house of Sanders.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right, right...Lady Valerie was the great granddaughter of Sir Edward, fifth cousin of King Thomas Roman I.” Roman mumbled, sitting up to peer at the book in Logan's hands. “Least the stories say.”</p><p> </p><p>Logan fought a swelling of frustration as he flipped ahead a few pages. “Most of these are stories. Stories, lore, and speculation. There's no proof here—and there are a lot of missing records, which I find strange for a royal lineage.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, Father had some records sealed for privacy.” Roman admitted. “That's how I knew about Sir Edward. He was a mage of some power, but his family withdrew from the monarchy generations ago. They're no longer part of the line of succession, so their presence exists only in the Tomes.”</p><p> </p><p>Logan hesitated, shutting the book in his hands. “The mage's histories? The ones kept at the Royal Academy library?”</p><p><br/>“Yep—well, most of them.”</p><p> </p><p>Logan looked at Roman sharply. “What do you mean, <em>most </em>of them?”</p><p> </p><p>Roman's eyes went wide as he froze. Logan's pulse quickened.</p><p> </p><p>“Roman? What do you know?”</p><p> </p><p>Roman looked, for a moment, like he wanted to bolt...but then took a deep breath, gathered Logan's hands in his, and began speaking.</p><p> </p><p>**********<br/><br/><em>1033, A.A.</em></p><p> </p><p>Logan's eyes snapped open as the Loom dropped abruptly away, leaving him with an ache in the marrow of his bones and a chill he couldn't quite dispel. As he sat up, warm arms immediately encircled him, tucking him against a wall of fire that eased the chill and soothed the hurt away.</p><p> </p><p>“Logan? Say something—are you all right?”</p><p> </p><p>For a second, Logan just leaned into him and shut his eyes. It wasn't complete, vague and nebulous and full of holes, but a new memory was hanging loose in his head, barely attached. He could almost picture the room, a few snatches of conversation...but the <em>feeling </em>was the only part he was sure of.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Secret and special...good and right...</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I loved him.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Logan, <em>please. </em>What happened?”</p><p> </p><p>Logan pressed his forehead against Roman's collarbone for just one more second, the sweet pulse of longing rippling through his bones, igniting an energy that was alien to him.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I love him.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“I am satisfactory.” he assured Roman, slowly straightening. He reached up to rub his head. “I...slept here last night?”</p><p> </p><p>Roman nodded, his hand settling on Logan's shoulder, warm and heavy. “You don't remember waking up?”</p><p> </p><p>“I...maybe? I was...the Loom.”</p><p> </p><p>“You entered that trance again—you asked for my help, and I gave it. Like I did during your Warping, but this time my hand was glowing—like the last time you were channeling. You wanted to reconstruct a memory, did you succeed?”</p><p> </p><p>Logan nodded, then shook his head.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Books...Grandpap...sun bleached hair, a special and secret cocoon in his childhood bed.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Flinching, Logan fumbled for Roman's hand, ripping it off his shoulder and squeezing hard.</p><p> </p><p>“Roman.”</p><p> </p><p>“I'm here, Starlight—what do you remember?”</p><p> </p><p>“I...don't know. Just—my brother.”</p><p> </p><p>“Virgil's not here.”</p><p> </p><p>“I have to find him. <em>Now.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>**********<br/><br/>Virgil was going on twenty four hours wide, staring awake, and wasn't enjoying it.</p><p> </p><p>Well...much.</p><p> </p><p>Reluctantly following the crown prince through the lower levels of the castle, he hated to admit that for all his crazy, Prince Remus was kind of a fascinating guy. He was smart, yeah, but—more than that.</p><p> </p><p>He was <em>brilliant, </em>in a way that was frightening. He babbled with barely any coherence, went off on tangents, talked to himself, but there wasn't a single wasted word. He talked about his brother with perfect devotion, discussed violence with absolute reverence, and spoke about death like...</p><p> </p><p>Like <em>he </em>was Necromata. In between the stories he shared during the night—stories about Roman's secrets, three years of carrying on an ilicit friendship with Logan—he went off about Virgil's people with a flawless understanding of who they were and what they were about.</p><p> </p><p>All while revealing, with all his stolen knowledge, that he didn't know jack <em>shit </em>about them. Everything he ever learned was heresay and speculation, but...but through the stories he <em>saw </em>the foundation. Remus was a quintessential outsider, but the respect he showed for the Necromata made Virgil ache inside.</p><p> </p><p>Fuck, Remus actually gave him a little <em>hope </em>for the future.</p><p> </p><p>“This way—this is where I found Roman after it happened.”</p><p> </p><p>Shaking himself from his thoughts, Virgil jogged to catch up with Remus. “We don't have a lot of time, Remus—Logan is supposed to try and resurrect your father this morning.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, yeah—we have an hour, I know.”</p><p> </p><p>“Two.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“Two. The sun will be well above the horizon then—doesn't do anyone any favors to be <em>too </em>prompt when it comes to making sure the Barrier is closed, unless you <em>want </em>to end up with someone else in your father's body.”</p><p> </p><p>Remus glanced at Virgil over his shoulder—then snickered.</p><p> </p><p>“Could be funny.” he decided, ushering Virgil ahead of him. “Through this door—this is where I found Roman the night your brother was arrested.”</p><p> </p><p>“Where <em>was </em>he? I never realized he was anywhere near us when we got caught.” Virgil huffed, shoving the filthy, heavy wooden door open to emerge into a dingy stone tunnel.</p><p> </p><p>“Before this castle had lower levels beneath this one, this was meant to be a sewer.” Remus explained as Virgil took a few more steps into the tunnel. “It's on some early plans for the palace, but hardly anyone remembers it's here. I got nosy when I was six and found it—Roman and I have used this to get in and out of the palace undetected since we were little.”</p><p> </p><p>“He must've told Logan.” Virgil muttered, peering up at the grate overhead. Above him, through the bars he could see scattered straw—the inside of an empty dungeon cell. “That's how he got us in here.”</p><p> </p><p>“You were here that night?”</p><p> </p><p>Virgil turned to face Remus, smiling a little without any humor in it. “He didn't tell you about that, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>Remus shook his head in silence.</p><p> </p><p>Virgil scoffed, turning his gaze upwards again.</p><p> </p><p>“Not all that surprised. Hell, maybe he didn't know I was here, either. I wasn't supposed to be...truth be told, I was always certain that I was the reason Logan got arrested. It's why I tried to get him out.”</p><p> </p><p>“What were you, four years old? What were you doing here, and how could you have been behind it?”</p><p> </p><p>“I was nine.” Virgil replied quietly, unable to tear his gaze from the grate of the cell above him.</p><p> </p><p>“And I was here because a Weaver needs his Spider.”</p><p> </p><p>**********<br/><br/><em>1023, A.A.<br/><br/></em>The tunnel was absolutely terrifying—dark and wide and squat. Grandpap would have to double over to walk through it, big as he was.</p><p> </p><p>Virgil did not want to be here. He wanted to be home in bed with his blanket, listening to Grandpap's bedtime stories about the Before Times and the wicked king that was slain, plunging their tribe into eternal darkness.</p><p> </p><p><em>Logan </em>was here, though—and a Spider had to stand with his Weaver. Protecting Logan was his responsibility now, and he couldn't let his big brother down.</p><p> </p><p>“...find the book in the office...”</p><p> </p><p>Voices, up ahead. Echoes carried down towards him, making Virgil flinch hard enough that he stumbled and fell.</p><p> </p><p>Silence. More voices, garbled and echoing...</p><p> </p><p>A hand on his collar, dragging him to his feet.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Virgil, </em>what in the name of the Seven Hells are you doing here!”</p><p> </p><p>When Virgil landed upright, he came face to face with the shadowed features of his big brother, blue eyes glimmering in the barely there light.</p><p> </p><p>“What are <em>you </em>doing here, Logan?” Virgil shot back. “You snuck out without me! You're 'posed to bring me on important stuff, I'm your 'Pider!”</p><p> </p><p>Logan spun around, as if he were about to address someone—but then froze. His shoulders hunched the way they always did when he forgot to thank the spirits of the ancestors at his altar every morning, nervous and unhappy.</p><p> </p><p>Turning back to Virgil, Logan narrowed his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“This isn't Weaver stuff, Stormcloud, so you can't tell anyone. Especially not Grandpap.”</p><p> </p><p>“I swear on the 'Pider's Thread, Loganberry.”</p><p> </p><p>Taking a deep breath, Logan nodded. “Okay...okay, you can come. You'll actually be helpful to find...never mind. Just do as I say, and don't ask questions. I can't answer them?”</p><p> </p><p>“Why?”</p><p> </p><p>Logan raised a warning finger at him.</p><p> </p><p>“Don't. Ask. Questions.”</p><p> </p><p>Virgil slammed his mouth shut, but didn't argue as Logan took his hand and led him down the tunnel and into the palace of the king.</p><p> </p><p>**********<br/><br/><em>1033, A.A.</em></p><p> </p><p>“What part of the palace did you hit?” Remus asked.</p><p> </p><p>Virgil shrugged. “Not sure. It was dark, I was nine and terrified...I've tried to track it since I enlisted, but haven't had much luck. All I know is it was somewhere in the lower levels 'cause that's how I found the tunnel and got away. Wasn't near the dungeons either, not really—when we got caught, Logan steered me towards a lit, open door. It was some kind of office, and I found an open grate that led me to it.”</p><p> </p><p>Virgil faced Remus again, pointing upwards. “This is under the dungeons, but you said this was where you found Roman after Logan's arrest?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yup.” Remus replied, popping the 'p' sound at the end. “Near the end of this particular tunnel, down here.”</p><p> </p><p>Virgil glanced behind him, in the direction Remus pointed, Turning back to the prince, he jerked his chin in that direction.</p><p> </p><p>“Let's go.”</p><p> </p><p>The pair fell into step beside each other, easily matching pace. Remus was a little taller than Virgil, so he was slowing down to let him keep up. Virgil didn't appreciate it.</p><p> </p><p>He <em>didn't. </em></p><p> </p><p>“You know, Roman didn't help you get in here. I did.”</p><p><br/>Virgil turned sharply towards him. “You're fucking with me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Identical twins? In a poorly lit room, you can't make out the streak and the 'stache, Sweet Cheeks.”</p><p> </p><p>“But...<em>why?</em>”</p><p> </p><p>“Because you were trying to help your brother, and mine couldn't. Help you, that is.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why couldn't he? Why did he admit to doing it?” Virgil asked.</p><p><br/>“Did he <em>actually </em>admit to anything last night?” Remus asked with a raised eyebrow.</p><p> </p><p>Virgil opened his mouth...then closed it.</p><p> </p><p>“Not outright, no.” he realized aloud. “But why couldn't he help?”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Virgil!</em>”</p><p> </p><p>The sound of that voice, echoing off the walls of the tunnel, was a flashback in time. For an instant, Virgil was nine and terrified again, being led into Souls Knew What by his big brother...running for his life and trying not to choke on his sobs, knowing he'd left his big brother to die.</p><p> </p><p>Spinning on his heel, Virgil found himself faced with the sight of the tunnel's end where he and Remus had been heading anyway. The door was open, and Logan stood side by side with the familiar figure of King Roman.</p><p> </p><p>At least, until Logan bolted forward, barreling towards Virgil until he had a death grip on him.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Unghf! </em>Loganberry, you're...crushing me...”</p><p> </p><p>“He panicked as soon as we got down here.” Roman explained, raising his voice to be heard as he jogged towards them. “He's been off since he woke up earlier. He tried to reconstruct a memory...”</p><p> </p><p>Virgil sighed, wrapping his arms around Logan for a second to give him a comforting squeeze before he shifted to reach for Logan's hand.</p><p> </p><p>“C'mere, Loganberry...lemme help you...”</p><p> </p><p>The moment their fingers meshed, Virgil felt the pull on his consciousness—Logan drawing on his focus, pulling raw thought from his head that sent his awareness of his surroundings spiraling into a pinpoint.</p><p> </p><p>Virgil's eyes slid shut, his head lolling back in familiar fashion—but this time, before the darkness took him, warmth flooded the base of his skull and softened his tumble into oblivion.</p><p> </p><p>**********<br/><br/>“Hey—hey! Wake up, Storm!”</p><p> </p><p>“Remus.”</p><p> </p><p>Roman watched his brother stand beside the silent cadet, one hand on his shoulder and the other cradling his head, supporting him as he half sagged where he stood. There was a look in his eyes Roman wasn't sure he'd ever seen before, something like panic...but not quite.</p><p> </p><p>It was familiar...but fuzzy.</p><p> </p><p>Moving to his brother's side, Roman touched his shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“He's all right, Remus.”</p><p> </p><p>“How do you know?”</p><p> </p><p>“Because this is what familiars do. I've...seen it before.”</p><p><br/>Roman blinked, startled by the words that came out of his mouth—but once he said them, he knew it was true. He <em>had </em>seen it before...somewhere among Logan's people, but <em>where?...</em></p><p> </p><p>“What are you four doing down here?”</p><p> </p><p>Roman looked back towards the direction Remus and Virgil had come from, flinching when he spotted Janus at the end of the tunnel with Patton at his side.</p><p> </p><p>“Lord Janus? Pat—what are you doing here?” he asked, moving towards the pair.</p><p> </p><p>“I came 'cause Janny asked me to.” Patton replied, staring past Roman to where Logan and Virgil stood, deep blue eyes filled with worry. “What's goin' on? Janny?...”</p><p> </p><p>With a sigh, Janus discreetly slid a hand up Patton's spine, only just visible as yellow gloved fingertips appeared near his nape then vanished with a soft whisper of leather on fabric.</p><p> </p><p>“Go, darling. See if you can help.” Janus urged.</p><p> </p><p>Reaching behind him, Roman saw Patton catch the gloved hand and squeeze before he hurried down the tunnel towards the trio of Remus, Logan, and Virgil.</p><p> </p><p>Facing Janus, Roman folded his arms. “You didn't answer my question.”</p><p> </p><p>Janus glanced past Roman, seemingly unable to tear his gaze from Patton for a long moment before he finally managed to set his gaze on Roman.</p><p> </p><p>“I'm an assassin. I'm not supposed to tell you why I do <em>anything, </em>Your Majesty.” Janus pointed out.</p><p> </p><p>“So you're here to kill someone?”</p><p> </p><p>Janus sneered, mouth setting into a thin, tight line.</p><p> </p><p>“If you must know,” he growled quietly, “I came here to kill the necromancer.”</p><p> </p><p>Roman's heart froze, blood running cold.</p><p> </p><p>“No, you're not.”</p><p> </p><p>“Majesty? Get your hands off me. <em>Now.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>Roman blinked, not even realizing that he'd backed Janus up against the nearby wall, and to his shock had a hand wrapped around his scaled throat.</p><p> </p><p>“Give me a reason why I should.” he asked flatly. “You'll have a harder time getting to the necromancer if you have to stop and kill me first.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, for the love of—I'm here to kill the <em>necromancer, </em>not your pet prisoner!”</p><p> </p><p>“I...what?”</p><p> </p><p>“The necromancer that assassinated your father and is <em>trying </em>to assassinate you.” Janus spat, finally shaking Roman's grip so he could straighten his cloak.</p><p> </p><p>“I...don't understand.”</p><p> </p><p>Janus finally tugged the clasp of his cloak straight, and when he met Roman's gaze, his own mismatched eyes were filled with something far warmer than any man might expect to see in the eyes of a spy like him.</p><p> </p><p>Janus was looking at him with sympathy.</p><p> </p><p>“Your Majesty...Logan may be one of the Necromata, but he is not a necromancer.” he whispered.</p><p> </p><p>“Of course he is! He--”</p><p> </p><p>“--may have been a necromancer once upon a time, but he isn't any longer. The root of necromancy is memory—with no memory, he should have no magic. No mere necromancer can beat the Cleansing that way, it's impossible.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then...?”</p><p> </p><p>Roman turned away from Janus to stare down the tunnel. He watched Virgil and Logan both slowly come to their senses, Logan opening ice blue eyes as Virgil started to straighten, supported by both Remus and Patton.</p><p> </p><p>Over Virgil's shoulder, Logan's gaze met Roman's, and for just a moment those gemstone eyes flickered with the soft, blue-white light of his magic.</p><p> </p><p>Janus's voice spoke right next to his ear, shaking him to his core.</p><p><br/>“Logan is not a necromancer, Your Majesty...he's a Lazari.”</p>
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